


The Rose Queen

by Shard



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 05:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 100,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6142350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shard/pseuds/Shard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They called her the Rose Queen, and she was equal parts love and poison.</p>
<p>A story of Delilah's life written in first person perspective.</p>
<p>Edit:<br/>I've decided to change the name of this work because of the new game. I wrote and posted the entire thing before it was revealed that Delilah would be returning in Dishonored 2. At the time I wrote it, there were no fics this long about Delilah, but in light of events, I don't feel that the old title of "Delilah" is appropriate any more. After all, her back story is probably going to vary quite a bit from what I wrote here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I was set to work in the kitchens. That was how I spent my younger days at Dunwall Tower, dough under my fingernails, flour caked to my clothes. It was a decent enough life, and I rather enjoyed the labor. At the very least, it gave me something to do with my hands. For the most part it was a fair childhood.

With one great exception. I often peeked around corners before entering a hallway. I didn't want to run into the Emperor in all his brilliant, golden-haired glory and iron composure.

Today, he found me.

“This isn’t funny. It's past time for her lessons. Where is she?”

“I told you, I don’t know where Jessie is,” I said, on the verge of tears before the might of Lord Euhorn Kaldwin’s slashing, oppressive gaze.

“Don’t lie to me. You’ve always caused such trouble for me.”

“I’m not lying! I haven’t seen her since this morning!”

Of course he wouldn’t believe me. He was the Emperor, and his word was law. I was just the daughter of a kitchen wench.

Fortunately for me, the Empress came to my rescue. Lady Beatrix Kaldwin was beautifully slim and pale, with silky black hair. Unlike her husband, she was offset by a simple kindness that rather reminded me of my own mother.

“Leave the poor child alone, dear,” she said. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

His anger melted as he turned and saw the forlorn-looking Jessamine clinging to his wife’s side. “Where have you been?” he asked in an altogether more gentle tone.

“She was found locked in the storage room.”

It was only a brief moment of relief before he turned back to face me. “I don’t suppose that you were the one who locked it on her, were you?”

“Delilah wouldn’t do that,” Jessie asserted. “I found the door open and wanted to see what was inside. One of the servants came and locked it without realizing I was in there. I’m sorry, daddy.”

As always, his anger abated for her, his sweet, precious daughter and heir to the Empire of the Isles. “That’s alright, as long as you’re unharmed. Now run along to your lessons,” said the glorious and icy man who sometimes smiled, but almost never in front of me.

***

Jessie was about a year my junior. When neither of us had any duties to attend to, we ran and frolicked through the gardens on the southern side of the Tower, looking over the Wrenhaven. Anyone would have said we were close as sisters. Back then, it didn’t matter that Jessamine’s dresses were elegantly tailored and mine were hand-me-downs altered to fit a child by my mother or some other member of the Tower staff. We both returned from the gardens with our knees equally grass-stained. Jessie was inevitably gently berated by her father. The head gardener, on the other hand, did not pick favorites and made a point of berating both of us. At first I thought his talk of being given the opportunity to experiment with new, hardier varieties of flowers was serious. Later, I discovered what sarcasm is. Eventually, I learned to appreciate the beautiful plants he cared for as well. I began making a conscious effort not to trample them.

In return, that kind, old gardener taught me about the various trees, shrubs, and flowers, and how to care for them. He cornered off a small section of the garden near the walls where no one would notice an empty bed, and provided me with a variety of seeds to plant there. But I was still a child. I asked him if any of them would grow into those toothed pitcher-shaped flowers from Pandyssia that could eat full grown rats. We planted pansies instead.

“Jessie, you’re standing on the flowers!”

She glanced down. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“So, get off of them!”

“They’re just flowers.”

“They’re not ‘just flowers!’ It took a lot to grow even this little flower here,” I echoed the gardener’s words. The flower I was pointing to had been mangled and bent to the side under the heel of Jessie’s boot. “It had to be planted in just the right soil, not too heavy, and not too sandy. If the sun stayed on this spot too long, it would bake it. If there wasn’t enough sun light, it couldn’t grow at all. Same with water. Did you know you can actually drown a plant by watering it too much?”

“No. I thought plants loved water.”

“Even if they don’t drown, wet soil can make the plants sick.”

“Plants can get sick?”

“Yes, but it’s not like when we get sick. They don’t sniffle or cough. They can’t tell us how they’re feeling, so we have to take extra good care of them, and watch out when they’re getting sick.”

Jessie pondered this for a moment. “I never thought of them like that.”

“That’s because you don’t talk to the gardener. You should. He’s so nice to me.”

“Jessamine!” one of the maids called out across the yard.

She responded immediately, leaping from the flower bed to hurry across the yard. I followed a few paces after.

A stranger stood beside the maid at the Tower steps. He wore a well-fitted vest lined with pockets of all sizes. Needles, measuring tapes, scissors, and other little tools protruded from them.

“You must be little Jessamine Kaldwin,” he said as we approached.

His word were clearly directed towards Jessie, despite the fact that we had arrived at almost the same time. It must have been her clothes, the thought occurred to me. I suddenly felt embarrassed, clad as I was in my slightly baggy rags.

“You’re the new dressmaker, right? Are you going to make me a fancy new dress?”

He chuckled. “Of course, my dear. You’ll just have to sit still for a moment while I take your measurements. And who’s this young lady?” he asked, gesturing toward me.

“Her? Her name’s Delilah. She’s just the daughter of one of the serving girls in the kitchen,” the maid answered dismissively. “The Emperor keeps her around to provide some company for Jessamine.”

“She’s cute. They’re quite a pair. If they had matching outfits and haircuts, I’d imagine they’d be hard to tell apart.”

The maid coughed. “Delilah, don’t you think it’s about time to start preparing supper?”

“Nope. Mother said she wouldn’t need me for another hour.”

She shot me a look. The dressmaker, on the other hand proved himself to be much more tactful.

“I believe she means that she, Jessamine and I need to be alone so we can work out the design for this new dress.”

“Oh,” I breathed, and with nothing else to do, slunk up the stairs and back to the kitchen.

***

Carefully, I positioned the open end of the frosting bag just above the center of the sponge cake. It was just four inches in diameter, perfect for an individual serving. I had already covered it in an even coating of lovely, light blue frosting, and now I drew the bag filled with bright yellow frosting backwards, squeezing gently at first, then moderately harder, then gently again to taper the shape off. The result was a single petal of the sunflower design that took up the entirety of the top of the sponge cake. I finished it all off with a series of dabs of darker frosting in the center, then set that particular cake aside.

My mother laid down the ladle on the side of the boiling pot of stew and came over to have a look at my work.

“Delilah, did you make all those decorations yourself?”

“Yes. Marie’s been teaching me. They’re all flowers from the gardens here. The old gardener showed me them.”

Each individual sponge cake was decorated with a different type of flower. Irises, pansies, lilies, and now my sunflower among them.  All but three of them I had set aside as finished.

“You’re so talented Delilah. If you ever decide you don’t want to be a baker, then you could be an artist.”

“Mommy, have you seen what I drew in my sketchbook yesterday? Wait here!”

I dashed off toward the stairs that led up to the servants' quarters, nearly running into one of the guards on the way. He yelled something about scuffing the floor that I was running too fast make out precisely.

I rushed to the side of my assigned bunk and dislodged the pillow. Jessie kept a diary, but I found drawing about my life was much more fun and interesting than writing about it. Besides, no one could read all my secrets. Sketchbook in hand, I scurried back down to the kitchen, where my mother had returned to ensuring the stew wouldn’t form a skin.

“Look! This one’s of you.” She barely had time to see it before I excitedly flipped to another page. “And this is me out in the gardens. I even labeled all the plants.”

She laughed. “And if you decide you don’t want to be an artist, you could be a natural philosopher.” She ruffled my hair affectionately.

“Stop. You know they don’t allow women into the academy.”

“Yes, of course, dear. Now, you better hurry up and finish the last few cakes. I wonder what flowers you’ll put on the last ones? Roses?”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” I said, eyes lighting up. “Roses are so pretty!”

“You have three cakes left to decorate. Why don’t you finish the others off with different colors of roses?”

“Okay.” I set the sketchbook aside and set to painting a white rose on a green-frosted sponge cake.

“Mommy, why do men give roses to women they like?”

“I’d assume because they’re pretty, and they want to tell the girl they like that she’s pretty.”

“But that makes no sense! They’ve got all those thorns on their stems!  You don’t want to hurt someone you love, right?”

“I’m sure they remove the thorns before they give them as a gift.”

“What if they forget?”

“Well, they do say love hurts.” She was starting to sound a little exasperated.

“Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re still young, and love is confusing. You’ll understand it better when you’re older.” She noticed I had finished with the white rose, and added, “Why don’t you make the next one pink?” in an attempt to distract me.

I complied, picking up a bag of nice, light pink frosting. “That just leaves red for the last one. It’s like a set. Do you think I should give them to the Imperial family? Red for the Emperor. White for the Empress because she always looks sickly--”

“Now, now, it’s not nice to make light of her poor health.”

“Oh, maybe red then, so she gets better, and Jessie can have the white one. Wait, no that means the Emperor would have pink. He wouldn’t like pink. So if I give him the white one...”

My mother clearly wasn’t paying much attention to the very important matters over which I was fretting, but I continued on anyway. I only stopped when Marie came into the kitchen to ask about when the desserts would be ready.

“Just a minute! I only have one left.” I picked up a red frosting bag, then added, “Say, can I serve it this time?”

“It’s an official dinner,” my mother interjected. “The Emperor has asked that you remain unseen during business.”

“Aw. Jessie always get to go to these things.”

“That’s because she’s the heir. It’s her duty to attend.”

“You wouldn’t like them anyway,” Marie, said, floating into the room. “Lots of politics, finances. Such a bore. But don’t worry, just tell me who gets which one, and I’ll make sure they get them.”

This was why I liked Marie. Not everyone did, and some of the other members of the staff kept referring to her as a tart. I never did see what she had in common with a pastry. All I knew was that Marie was always very kind to me, even if she could be a little overbearing at times. I hurried to finish the last cake as she loaded the finished ones onto a serving platter.

***

Over the past few weeks, Jessamine and I had kept busy collecting little things we found in the garden. Together we assembled a little fleet of boats with hulls made from discarded bark and rigging made from twigs, stems, and leaves.

“It’s like the best of both of us. Plants for you, and ships for me,” she commented, when we had finished. Her tutor had been going over the importance of the Empire’s fleet, and Jessie had taken a fascination to it. As one would expect for the future ruler of an Isle that relied so heavily on its navy.

“Yeah, but how are we going to get to the river to launch them? They always keep the gate to the stairs locked unless there are visitors.”

“Put them in here, and I’ll show you!” She held the mouth of a backpack open, and I placed the scrap wood boats in side by side so the masts would be less likely to snap off. When it was loaded up, Jessie pulled the bulky sack on to her back and took off toward the southern wall where the heavy iron gate was shut firmly.

“Father says I shouldn’t show this to anyone, but we’re friends, so promise you won’t tell, okay?”

“I promise.”

Jessie nodded, and held her hand up, reaching it out toward the hefty lock. Her lip curled in concentration, as if she were attempting something physically strenuous.

“What are you doing, Jessie?”

“Wait for it… there!”

She lowered her hands and pushed against the iron gate, and it opened with a groan.

My jaw hung partially open in shock and disbelief before I checked myself. “Jessie, was that magic?”

“I don’t really know. Remember that one day when I got locked in the storage room when it was time for one of my lessons?”

We started down the stairs. It was a long way to the bottom.

“Yes, I remember. How could I forget?”

“There was a bunch of old maps and other neat things in there, I found it open, so I just wandered in to have a look around. It was really interesting. There was even this singing object in a back corner. I was just looking at it when everything went dark. Somebody must have shut the door. I managed to crawl back using the light from under the doorway, but it was locked when I got there. I kept banging on it and screaming until someone came by and let me out.”

“That must have been scary.”

“It was. I even had a dream about it that night. More like a nightmare. That singing object I found was there, and I kept feeling like it was trying to tell me something. Then I came to a locked door, and it just opened. I woke up after that, of course, but I tried it on a lock and it really worked!”

“No way! I wish I could do that.”

“Yeah, but mom and dad didn’t like it when I showed them. They got very quiet all of the sudden and said that I shouldn’t show it to anyone.”

Something told me that if I had been the one to show the Emperor that, I would have gotten quite a bit more than a few urgently hushed words. The thought stung as it passed through my mind.

“But I’ve been practicing when no one is looking. I can do more things,” she continued. Jessie unslung the backpack and handed it over to me. “Watch this.”

It almost appeared as if a shadow reached out from nowhere and enveloped her. I could still see her when I looked straight at her, but she was somehow fainter, less noticeable. When I looked slightly to the side, she disappeared entirely, as if there was nothing there except a shadow cast by one of the rocks.

She returned into my field of vision with a slight puff of light. “That’s a fun one. I can’t do that for long though. It make me tired.”

The power intrigued me. With something like that, maybe it would be possible to even avoid the Emperor when he came charging down on of the Tower hallways.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had powers?” We started down the stairs again.

“Delilah, we almost always play in the garden or in the Tower. Someone would have seen us. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want anyone else to know.”

“Can you teach me how you do it?”

“I don’t know. I just sort think of it and it happens. Like moving my arm.”

“Maybe if I do the same thing…” I conjured up the idea of the enveloping shadow, and tried to picture it like a cloak around me.

“Anything?” I inquired.

“You don’t look any different. Except for the way you’re scrunching up your eyebrows. Maybe only I can do it.”

“Aw. that’s no fair. I want to be able to hide in shadows too.”

“You could try sneaking into the storage cabinet. I’d make sure no one would lock it on you.”

“It’s worth a try.”

“Okay, we’ll make plans for it when we get back to the top.”

Going down was easy enough, but I was starting to worry about the trip back up. Jessie read my thoughts.

“I wish one of my powers was to jump to the top of tall things. Or that there was some kind of device that lets me get up and down the stairs without having to walk whenever I want to go to the river. Or maybe I can bring the water up to the top.”

“Bring the river up to you? Jessie, you have such a wild imagination.”

“When I’m Empress, I’m going to have the natural philosophers build something like that. Empresses shouldn’t have to climb so many stairs.”

“I hope you don’t succeed. That would be bad for this fish,” I teased. “Look, we’re almost at the bottom.”

I placed the backpack on the gravelly shoreline ground and pulled it open. Despite my precautions, two of the masts had snapped in half, but the rest looked to be more or less in one piece. I took them out and tossed them aside before carefully removing the intact boats.

“You pick the first one,” I offered to Jessie. “After all, you’ll have a real fleet someday.”

“Hm. I’ll pick this one.” She pulled one of the larger ships from the ground, with three whole masts firmly glued to it. We took it over to the water and set it afloat.

“I dub thee the H.E.S. Dahlia.”

“That’s a type of flower. Have you been listening to what I tell you after all?”

“Sometimes. Mostly I just named it that because it sounds like your name.”

We giggled as we watched the makeshift boat haphazardly drift out over the water.

“Okay, my turn.” I chose a slimmer ship. “I’ll call this one the H.D.S. Stairwell.”

“H.D.S. Stairwell?”

“Her Delilah’s Ship the Stairwell. Because no Empress will be able to conquer it!”

“I know, but H.D.S.? That’s not a proper name for a ship.”

“I can’t be Empress, so it had to be named after something else. Like me.”

“Don’t look now, but I think the H.D.S. Stairwell has just been conquered.”

I gazed at where it was drifting to see she was right. The ship was still afloat, but it had fallen on its side, the leaf making up its sail half submerged.

“You won this battle, but there’s more where that came from!”

So we alternated launching ships. The Natural Philosopher, then the Columbine. The Leviathan, then the Harpooner. The Sunshine, then the Shadow. Our game was interrupted halfway through when the wake from a passing boat capsized most of our fleet and sent them splashing against the rocky shoreline. Jessie and I ran in opposite directions to try and save as many ships as we could. I had picked up two ships and cradled them in my left arm when Jessie called out to me. “Delilah, look what I found!”

I returned to where Jessie was standing, ankle deep in the murky waters. She wasn’t holding any of the ships, but instead and odd, thick disk that looked like it was made of bone. Rusted metal bolts had been stapled through its edges, and circular patterns etched on colored black on its flat sides.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know, but it looks and sounds like that singing object I told you about. That’s how I found this hidden under the water.”

I cocked my head to the side. I certainly didn’t hear anything. Wait, maybe there was something just barely perceptible -- no that was just the sound of the water sloshing against the shore. Still, Jessie looked transfixed by something.

“The one I found in the storage room was on a pedestal of some kind. I think this one wants us to make one for it as well.”

Jessie was the one who could hear it, so I decided she knew best. We unquestioningly broke off the masts from our little ships. I propped them up as to Jessie’s instruction, while she tied them together with the plant stems that had previously been rigging. It wobbled slightly as Jessie placed the strange, pale object in the top half of the structure, then we backed away with a sense of unspoken superstition. The object looked just right there. Transfixing, even. Our gazes lingered on it. I couldn’t be certain how long we were standing there.

“What in the world are you two doing?!!” boomed a terrifying voice from behind us. We spun around. As I feared, the horrible voice belonged to none other than the Emperor. He was accompanied by two of his harsh faced guards. They all looked furious, and, I thought, somewhat aghast.

“Where did you find that?!”

“It was on the beach, under the water,” I said quietly, shrinking under his iron gaze.

As much as I dreaded his presence, I knew that sometimes the Emperor had even smiled ever so slightly, usually when I had made an inventive new roll or pastry for him. It confused me. I wasn’t sure what to make of that gesture. But this was not one of those times. Why should I have hoped for anything different?

“It’s not her fault!” Jessie exclaimed. “It was me. I found it.”

“Jessamine, go back to your room in the Tower. You’re lucky the Overseers didn’t find you first.”

"But--"

“Jessamine, I told you to go to your room. Weston, see that she gets there.”

One of the guards stepped out from behind him and ushered her forward with a gentle push. When they had reached one of the stairway’s turn backs and faded from sight, the Emperor turned toward me again. I tried to call up that shadow that Jessie had shown me again, but to no avail. I was straight in his sights and helpless to do anything about it.

“As for you, Delilah, come with me.”

***

My back hurt, and whatever my mother was putting on it made it sting even more.

“There’s a bakery and apartment available in one of the lower middle class districts. You can start up a business there if you’d like. I’ve arranged for a coach to take you there in an hour’s time. Be certain you’re ready and waiting at the gate by then. That’s all I can offer you, and it's really more than I should be doing for you. Let me make it clear that when you leave, I expect never to hear from either of you again.”

“So that’s it?," asked my mother. "You’re finally getting rid of us? It took you so long I was beginning to think that we weren’t such a burden to you after all.”

I stopped crying for long enough to look at my mother. No one spoke to the Emperor that way. Yet here she was, standing up for an unfortunate child against the most powerful man in the Isles.

And he didn’t make a move to contradict her, or strike out at her as he had at me.

“I’m sorry,” he simply said in a tone too cold to be genuine, and too nuanced to be faked. “This is the way things must be.”

“Why are you always so cruel to me and not to Jessamine?” I whispered in one final protest. I didn't think he would hear it, but he did.

He just looked at me. Not angry, just simply stern and detached.

“Because you’re not my daughter, now, are you?”

With that, the Emperor turned and left the room. That was the last time I ever saw him.

I remained in my mother’s arms, sobbing silently as she continued to rub ointment over the raw lashes on my back.

“Does this mean we have to leave the Tower forever?” I finally inquired.

She answered slowly. “Yes, Delilah.”

“But this is my home! I was raised here.”

She stroked my hair a few times in silent remorse. “None of this is your fault. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you.”

I sniffled, and my mother wiped my running nose.

“Can Jessie at least come with us?”

“No. Jessamine has to stay here.”

“Why?”

“She’s the future Empress. This is where she belongs, with her father.”

“But he’s so cruel! Wouldn’t Jessie be happier living with us, away from him?”

“Darling, she can’t. The Emperor always treats her well, so she’ll have a good life. I tried to give you the same thing, but in the end, it looks as if I was unable to. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry. Why did grown-ups say that so often? They were just stupid words. They never meant anything.

“He hurt me so much, but Jessie just got sent to her room! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” The words choked in my throat and I began another bout of painful sobbing. “How come she gets to stay here in the Tower without being punished because she’s the one who’s going to be Empress, and I get treated meanly by the Emperor, and kicked around, and beaten up, and now I have to leave forever, and everything hurts, and I don’t even know why? It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s NOT fair!”

My mother drew back to look me in the eyes. “Delilah, how I wish I could tell you something that would make this all better, but I can’t. Out there, in the world outside the Tower, things are even more unfair than they are in here. I can’t take the pain away, but I do need to prepare you for your new life.” She paused to find the right words. “The Emperor shouldn’t have done that to you. You’re right. It was cruel. But he is the Emperor, and he inherited the power to do a great many things, whether right or not, simply because he was lucky enough to be born into power. As was Jessamine. You see, Delilah, some people are born with a silver spoon in their mouth. And some people just… aren’t. None of this was your fault, remember that. You didn’t chose to be born who you were. Now, all I can do is ask you to be strong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After several months of writing, I'm finally done with writing this thing! As this is my first fan fiction, I have learned a lot from writing it. It's been a long road, and I sincerely hope you all enjoy it. At around 97k, this is also technically my first novel. I'm also liking this site so far. There are some pretty good Dishonored fics on here.
> 
> I'd also like to thank Bathory specially for her random bits of inspiration while writing this, and to the contributors to the Dishonored wiki for all the information about the game's lore.


	2. Chapter 2

I had to read the address on the envelope twice to be certain it was addressed to me. Anton Sokolov, the famous natural philosopher, Royal Physician, Head of the Academy of Natural Philosophy, and Dunwall’s most beloved painter had just sent a letter to a twenty-two year old no-name baker asking her to his studio. It claimed that he had received an anonymous letter of recommendation citing me as a talented painter worthy of becoming his apprentice.

“This a golden opportunity, Delilah. Take it,” said my mother with a lively fire in her eyes that I hadn’t seen for many, many years.

“It sounds too good to be true,” I rejected. “Sure, I paint from time to time, but I am nowhere near the skill level that being his apprentice would call for.

“That’s why you would become his apprentice. To learn from him.”

“Wouldn’t it be more reasonable to expect him to chose someone with more skill than me? He must be a busy man, and I would hardly be worth his time.”

“Don’t talk like that, dear. Somebody thought you were good enough to recommend to Sokolov. At least give it a try. What’s the worst that could happen? He would say no, and you would return here.”

“But if he does accept me, who will help you out when I’m gone? You can’t run the bakery alone.”

“I’ve been doing this for over thirty years,” she laughed. “I’ll be fine. Besides, a famous painter could sell their work for much more than we’d ever make here in the shop. Please Delilah. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”

She had made good points, and I found nothing more to argue against it. With that, I wrapped my woolen coat around me and set forth on the trek halfway across the city. We didn’t have the money to spare on a coach ride, but if her hopes were not unfounded, this journey would change all that.

Wind roared and bellowed through the exposed ironwork of Kaldwin’s Bridge. The structure was massive, a heroic feat of engineering and equally as harsh, cold, and uncaring as the man who had given the it its namesake. He had died last year, much to the chagrin of half the city. Fools lucky enough not to know him. I suppose that meant Jessamine was the new Empress, a fact that I could only feel numb to.

Dunwall, the Tower, and, in all likelihood, Jessamine as well were completely transformed from what I had known in my young and carefree days. Whale oil had revolutionized the city ever since Roseburrow had discovered its potency. In and of itself, it wasn’t a problem; it burned without producing smoke or odor. The machines and factories it powered were not nearly so clean. The sky above them had grown even greyer than what dreary Dunwall had already been known for, and the river below the drainage pipes was brown and green with scum. Fewer and fewer flowers blossomed on the trees each year, draining of color, just like the entire city.

If anyone was to blame for the new face of Dunwall, it was Anton Sokolov.

Here I was, going to meet him. We were quickly going to hate each other, I was certain. Yet, I kept walking. Not once did I turn back. I kept telling myself that I owed it to my mother to do this, and that kept me going as I stepped onto the brutish frame of Kaldwin’s Bridge.

Either Dunwall was running out of real estate, or property situated on the bridge itself was considered fashionable. What should have been a desolate walkway spanning across the middle of the river was instead a darkened alleyway nestled between apartment complexes, construction sites, factories, and the occasional estate.

According to the letter, Sokolov’s house was on the north side of the bridge. I turned through the archway it had indicated to see a large, blocky building offset from the bridge proper, with its foundation resting in the very Wrenhaven itself. 'House' struck me as not quite the right word for this structure. Judging from its size, shape, and overall appearance, it had been converted from a warehouse. A warehouse for poison, if the large green sign advertising Hemlock imported from Balenton was any indication. Apparently this Sokolov wasn’t the sort of person who would bother to paint over that.

I took in a breath of resolve and set foot onto the metal walkway across the murky water. A guard waiting at the gate lazily took notice of me.

“You. You’re that artist or whatever it was that Sokolov wanted to see, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I have the letter here.”

I held it out for him. He barely took a quick look at the signature and nodded.

“He’s waiting just inside, at the studio. Main hall, concrete floor. Bits of machinery and whatnot lying about. You can’t miss it.”

With a polite nod, I pushed the front doors aside and closed them gingerly. Just beyond the foyer stood the immense main hall. It recalled to mind yet again the building’s previous life as a warehouse, with the storage crates piled high. The ceiling was lofty enough to contain a free-standing second story, likely added after the building had been transformed into a manor. Thick pipes ran along the space just below the ceiling, and a couple of large tanks rested near the northern wall. Though it now housed Dunwall’s most prestigious natural philosopher, the industrial skeleton of the building made no attempts to conceal itself.

The area designated as a studio was nestled part way below the upper story. It was indeed marked with half-built machines and the parts used to make them, but it was far from a study in disorder. Yellow lines had been painted on the floor to separate the space. The right half was dedicated to whatever invention Sokolov was working on, and the left half was set aside for artwork.

In the center of the left section stood an easel holding up a blank canvas. It was accompanied by two tables. One was loaded with paints and brushes, and the other played host to a bizarre still life. Rather than a shapely vase filled with flowers and fronted by fruits, this set-up was quite unusually composed with geometric wooden blocks, glass alchemy equipment and even a dead hare.

Over this display loomed a man with a sharp, wrinkled face, framed on all sides by his shaggy black hair, beard, and sideburns. He reminded me not incompletely of a mix between a haggard hawk and a mange-ridden bear. His clothes were no better, in very desperate need of a soaking and ironing.

“So you are Delilah, I take it?” He spoke Gristolian fluidly, with only a faint shadow of a Tyvian accent. “Delilah… what was your surname again?”

“Copperspoon. Delilah Copperspoon.”

“Anton Sokolov. A pleasure,” he said.

So this really was the man. I knew natural philosophers had garner a reputation for being absent minded and somewhat uncaring about their general appearance, but part of my had expected the Royal Physician to be more… royal.

“Likewise Mr. Sokolov,” I said quietly.

“Miss Copperspoon, if you would please paint what you see here, me included. I’ll give you an hour. How well you do will determine whether or not I will take you on as an apprentice.”

Diligently I set to work, concentrating hard to make sure I was making the most of the techniques I had developed over the years. The proportions of the wooden blocks that could be seen through the glass alchemical equipment gave me the most trouble by far. In my painting, they looked awkward and lopsided, no matter what I tried to do to fix them. At the end of the hour, Sokolov abruptly rose without a word and came to look at what I had painted.

After a moment of examination he said, “Your eye for color and shading is excellent, as is your understanding of framing. However, it is quite clear that you have never been taught geometry and perspective drawing, and you could use some lessons in anatomy as well. Though, I suppose that is what I am here to teach you.”

“So, this means you’ll be taking me on as an apprentice?”

“Yes. I see great potential in you. We’ll meet twice a week at ten o'clock in the morning starting tomorrow. Remember that I expect you work hard, miss Copperspoon. You are here of your own merit, anonymous letters of recommendation aside. Prove yourself worthy, and you’ll go far. If not, then you’d best return to baking.”

“I understand Mr. Sokolov.”

I turned to leave, but something was still gnawing away at the back of my mind.

“Mr. Sokolov, why did you listen to what an anonymous letter of recommendation had to say? Do you, by chance, have any idea who sent it?”

One of his eyebrows rose slightly before he waved his hand dismissively. “Just a former colleague of mine.”

***

Sokolov was boorish, insensitive, lecherous, poorly groomed, a drunkard, and he chewed with his mouth open. But I had never met a more intelligent person so well-versed in such a wide array of disciplines. Far from hating him, as I suspected I would, a bond started to develop between us. I began to look forward to his lessons just to see what I’d be learning next. Instead of finding my times away from the bakery as a chore, I began to see them as a delightful respite from the endless cycle of mixing and kneading.

After nearly a year, Sokolov had taken notice of my hunger to learn and the speed at which I did so. He no longer taught me only as an artist, but started sharing with me whatever he was interested in at the time. I think he found relief in me as well. I was neither an overly privileged young aristocrat who was convinced of the inherent correctness of my theories, nor one of the hordes of Academy drones who were good students of natural philosophy, but terrible conversation partners. I enjoyed listening to what he said and engaging him with questions of my own, which would send him down other roads of discussion. It opened up an entire world to me. Last time we had met, I had asked him about the celestial bodies, and today, he had brought out his star charts and astrolabe.

“It’s been held belief for a about a century that we are living in a space that is not orbited by the sun and stars, but rather the other way around. The same is true of the Outer Spheres,” Sokolov explained, as he pointed to the globe he kept in the corner of his laboratory. “We live on such a Sphere ourselves. The fact that our world is spherical has been confirmed multiple times by sailing expeditions.”

“Could that mean that there might be other human civilizations existing on these Spheres?”

He shrugged. “It seems fantastical, and unlikely, but it’s not impossible. Our telescopes aren’t powerful enough to see the surface of the Outer Spheres with any degree of clarity. I regret that we may not get to learn more of their nature in our lifetime. At the Academy, we have tried to develop more powerful telescopes, but the amount of solid glass that would be necessary to make a proper lens is beyond even our methods.”

I thought of the night sky, vast, empty and of the deepest black between where the stars feebly illuminated it. “Where does the Void come into play in all of this?”

“There are a bounty of hypotheses as to its nature.”

“Then, what is your opinion?”

He ran his blunt fingers through his uncombed beard with a heavy expression.

“It is chaos. Pure, unrelenting, primal chaos. We live only a finite existence amidst all this chaos. But entropy always increases. Everything we see in the world around us will inevitably decay into the Void. That is our doom.”

“That’s a… rather disturbing thought.”

“This is only happening very slowly. You won’t live to see that day.”

“Still…”

“Enough of such thoughts. I wanted to teach you about the orbits of the Spheres, not to keep you up all night worrying.” He pulled another star chart out from under the pile.

The conversation wandered from the discovery of the fact that the Spheres were separate from the stars, to how their orbit was just ever so slightly elliptical rather than perfectly circular. The lesson continued until I noticed the sky darkening.

“Sokolov, this is all very fascinating, but it’s getting late, and I must be getting back to my mother.”

“Yes, of course, don’t let me keep you. How is she doing, by the way?”

A few weeks prior, a strange bout of horrid coughing had seized her without any signs of stopping. I brought her to see Sokolov, but he was unable to pinpoint what was wrong. Fortunately, her condition grew better after a while, and I felt a much needed sense of relief.

“Mostly well. She’s only had coughing fits a couple of times the past few days. I believe the incident is over.”

“Good to hear. You’d best get back to her. If anything happens, be sure to call me immediately.”

“Of course. I’ll see you next week, Sokolov.”

***

When my skill with a brush began to fall into the same vicinity as Sokolov’s, he invited me to select some of my own works to include in an upcoming auction. I selected a few choice pieces and brought them to the studio, where I found him inspecting several paintings of his own.

“Is that new? I haven’t seen you painting it.”

It was traditional portrait, like many of his works. The subject, a lady garbed in aristocratic clothing that was reminiscent of courtly fashions a decade or two ago, held herself up straight and gazed out of the painting with a stern, yet unfocused expression. There was something else there, beyond the fierce gaze. She was almost bored, unsatisfied.

“Her name was Vera Moray,” he explained. “I was asked to paint a portrait of her back when I was still an inexperienced painter because my commission fee was low. Perhaps too low, in retrospect.”

“Moray. I think I recall hearing that name in my childhood, but never in more recent years.”

“There’s a good reason for that. Her family used to possess one of the most renowned names in Dunwall. Even before then, she was a beloved figure among unmarried men. Half of Dunwall’s gentry asked for her hand in marriage, even the late Emperor before he took the throne. She turned them all down, though I do wonder if things would have been different if the late Lord Kaldwin had been the Emperor at the time.”

I thought about that. I was glad he had ended up marrying Beatrix instead. The Empress had been kindhearted, an impression distinctly absent from the portrait of the lady before me.

“Eventually, she settled on Preston Moray, a well-respected linguist, due to pressure from her family,” continued Sokolov. “It was a mostly happy marriage, until things went awry.”

“What happened?”

“The circumstances surrounding the house’s fall from power were unusual, to say the least. It started not long after Preston and Vera Moray returned from an expedition to Pandyssia. Sounds of arguing could be heard coming from inside their estate. Sometimes strange lights appeared in the windows at night. This continued for a few years. It became normal to their neighbors until Preston Moray was found dead in the kitchen with a knife embedded in his back. The rest of the household went missing one by one. Vera Moray was the last of them to disappear. When the estate was finally put under investigation, it revealed some very questionable findings. The details are fuzzy. The Abbey wanted to cover up as much as possible. The Overseers only recently returned the painting to me. I have no desire to keep it, however. It is one of my lesser works, and so I will be including it in the auction.”

I mulled the story over in my mind a little. It left me with many questions. “You’ve been to Pandyssia as well, haven’t you? What was it like?”

“It was an incredibly hostile place. Yet, despite that, there were remains of human civilization. We discovered the ruins of two entire cities. Completely overgrown by the jungle, of course, but standing nonetheless. Both of them were absolute marvels of engineering and city planning. The buildings were all made of a uniform sandstone, and laid out according to a predetermined pattern based on concentric circles and the equilateral quadrilateral. Both cities possessed a tiered pyramid at their very center. Judging from the carvings found within, they likely served as temples. If only I had more time to study them, or had Preston Moray come along with me. He was the foremost expert on ancient Pandyssian writing in all the Isles. At least I got the opportunity to see the ingenious sewer system they had implemented. Far more efficient and well-planned than our own by leagues. I can’t even begin to describe how fascinating everything in this city was, down to each individual paving stone.”

“That does indeed sound incredible. Maybe some day, I’ll join an expedition to see it with my own eyes,” I mused.

He shook his head. “I would strongly advise you not too. The continent is as fascinating as it is perilous. My own expedition was fraught with troubles. One of my crew discovered berries that quite resembled the tomatoes we are familiar with here in the Isles. He figured they must have been of the same ilk, so he ate a number. While he claimed at first the taste was pleasant, he began to develop a burning sensation in the back of his throat. It subsequently spread to his upper torso, and he complained of having difficulty breathing. After two hours, he died writhing in pain when his organs gave out,” Sokolov explained in equal parts fascination and horror. “After that, we subsisted mostly on fish species we were certain we recognized, and the pickles and hard tack we had brought with us on the ship. The worst of it, though, was the night when our camp was attacked by what appeared to be giant, wailing bats. They must have been large enough to carry off a full-grown man, because when dawn came, we found three of the crew vanished without a trace. One of them returned a few days later, stark raving mad. He stabbed several crew members before somebody shot him. I was forced to end the expedition prematurely after that. The men told me they would mutiny if we didn’t prepare to sail back to the Isles at once. Whoever occupied those cities abandoned them for good reason.”

“Who were those people, I wonder?”

“I can’t say for certain, but I suspect those dark-skinned people living on the islands off the coast of Pandyssia could be relatives to these people, if not direct descendants. If that’s the case, they have fallen quite a long way. They are nothing but cannibalistic savages now.”

“That is quite the fall, indeed.”

“Yes. Odd though it sounds, that voyage has been my greatest inspiration as an inventor. What if the disasters that destroyed their civilization come to the Isles? How would we defend ourselves against it? As humans, our greatest ability is to invent new technologies to help us survive and thrive. It’s our only defence, our only way to combat the unrelenting chaos of the world around us.”

I didn’t know if I agreed with him. As far as I could see, the technologies he spoke of weren’t preventing an impending disaster, simply tearing up Gristol’s lovely countryside and traditional way of life. Still, the goal itself was noble enough, and I certainly didn’t want to see the Isles come into ruin. They were my home.

When it was clear the gravity of the conversation had faded away, I walked about the studio taking a look at the other painting he has brought out of storage. They were unanimously dull depictions of dull aristocrats, save one in the back that stood out from the crowd. The man within bore a distinctly un-aristocratic scar down the length of one side of his face. He stood boldly, clad in brown and grey leather on top of simple clothing. His pose was one of easy alertness. Large, gloved hands draped loosely by his sides, ready for action faster than one could blink.

“Sokolov, who is this?”

He looked up from where he had been neatly packaging paintings into a shipping crate to see what I was asking about.

“That, my dear, is none other than the only existing portrait in the entirety of high art of the assassin Daud.”

“Daud? As in the Knife of Dunwall? That Daud?”

“The very same.”

“But how did you manage to paint him? I highly doubt such an infamous assassin would sit for a portrait by such a famous painter.”

“He didn’t. I’ve never met the man. What you see here was created from referencing depictions on wanted posters and accounts from those fortunate enough to lay eyes on him and live. I can’t truly say how accurate the result is, but it was an interesting test of my abilities. Now, I have no more use for it, so I will be including it in the auction.”

“You plan to sell it? Who in the world would buy a portrait of a wanted criminal, and one who preys largely on their kind no less? That’s almost asking for him to show up in one’s bedroom in the middle of the night with a knife.”

He laughed. “Delilah, you have a much more reasonable outlook on such manners than the majority of the upper class. They’ve lived such privileged lives that they think themselves untouchable until it's too late. I would be downright surprised if he didn’t chance upon this painting while fulfilling a contract some day.”

“And what if he decided to come calling for you after finding it?”

“Then I’m sure we would have a very interesting conversation. From what I hear, Daud is more than just an assassin. They say he can use witchcraft.”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to fear him?”

He shrugged. “He’s still just a man. Now why don’t you put your paintings in here, alongside mine?”

***

It was a dreary day in the Month of Timber when Sokolov found me quietly painting a still life alone in the studio.

“I’m headed to Dunwall Tower to consult with the Empress about the implantation of a new water lock system. Would you like to come along?”

The abruptness of his offer took me off guard. The day I was banished had left little needles under my skin whenever I remembered it, and I had no intention of digging them out. I couldn’t think of a way to tell him that, however, so I merely remained silent.

“No? Most anyone would jump at the opportunity.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” was all I could muster.

“Just as I thought. You lived in the Tower as a child, didn’t you?”

“What?! How would you know that?”

“One of the serving girls there mentioned your name last time I visited. Marie, I think she was.”

Knowing Sokolov’s disposition, he and gentle Marie had probably -- no. I decided not to follow that train of thought to its conclusion.

I sighed. It wasn’t as if my banishment had completely destroyed any traces of my presence there. “How much did she tell you?”

“That you and Jessamine were playmates as children. Then one day you and your mother were sent away without any explanation as to why.”

I found that I had stopped painting, so I set the brush and palette aside.

Sokolov continued. “It’s quite unusual for a child other than that of the Emperor or Empress to be admitted to the Tower. Most female staff members are forced to retire when they have children. As I understand, even wet nurses leave after they stop lactating.”

“The Emperor thought differently. He decided Jessamine needed healthy interaction with another child to be a well-rounded individual. I was around the same age as her. I was convenient. That’s all.”

He considered that a moment. “No, Delilah, I don’t think that’s the entire story. I knew the late Emperor to be relatively progressive ruler in his politics, but not in his persona. He was a great honorer of tradition, and devoted much time to upholding that reputation. I highly doubt he would go against long-held policies towards servants on a whim.”

Why did he continue to dig at old wounds? I wanted to forget the whole ordeal, and rightfully so.

“Well, he did live up to honor and tradition in the end. That’s why I was banished.”

“Banished? What a specific word you use.”

“I grew up there. What other word do you expect me to use?”

“Dismissed, perhaps.”

“It wasn’t a dismissal. It was too harsh. Too sudden.”

He looked at me expectantly.

Before I knew why, I found myself explaining things to him. “Jessamine and I were playing by the water. It was just a child’s game, but it turned more serious after she found a piece of carved bone under the surface of the river.”

“A rune?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you call it, but Jessamine said she could hear it singing. I didn’t hear anything, but I don’t think she was lying either. She was different than me. She had... powers.”

“What do you mean by powers?”

“She unlocked the gate to the stairway just by concentrating on it, for one thing. Then she wrapped shadows around herself in order to hide. I couldn’t see her unless I was looking right at her. I don’t know if this has anything to do with finding that singing object, but...”

“The Empress possesses witchcraft? Truly? I would never have suspected that in all the years I’ve known her. She hides it well.”

“It’s probably because of me. We built a shrine to the rune, at Jessamine’s suggestion. The Emperor found us staring at it. We must have been hypnotized, because neither of us heard him and his guards approach. Then... he sent Jessamine off to her room, but I… He claimed I was trying to corrupt his daughter with black magic. He had me flogged… It was only five times, but I was a child. It was the most painful thing I had ever experienced up to that point, and not just from the physical pain. He was never very kind to me, always insulting me, or looking at me with disappointment. Then he finished it all off by exiling me from the only home I’d ever known.”

As I finished, I felt the sudden  horrid warmth of tears running down my cheeks. They shortly gave way to painful sobs from deep in my chest.

To my surprise, Sokolov reached out a reassuring arm to console me.

“I’m sorry for bringing up such painful memories, child. You have truly suffered.”

I let the tears fall shamelessly. It felt good to let them out, even if I had never expected that the misanthropic Sokolov would be the one to lend me that supporting arm. While he was not the kindest or gentlest of men, I was glad for his company all the same. It fulfilled a familial need in me that I had been pretending wasn’t there for the longest time.


	3. Chapter 3

“We’ll start with the jaw,” said Anton.

Whales were the only remaining animals whose anatomy I had longed to see first hand. Given that they were the largest known animals on the Sphere and spent all their time in the open ocean, there had been little chance for that up until now. Anton had made a deal with Rothwild, the whale oil tycoon who owned this slaughterhouse. Rothwild would allow him to come and go as he pleased for use it for his studies, and in return Anton agreed to develop new technologies specially for him. Today, they had reached an agreement that the workers would be tasked to other parts of the slaughterhouse, leaving the two off us free to go over the anatomy of a half-butchered whale undisturbed for two hours.

“I’m sure you see the teeth from here, but take a look more closely at the inside, particularly at the back of the mouth.”

I peered into its monstrous jaw. From outside, the first row of jagged teeth was all that was apparent. Inside, however, there proved to be multiple rows, five in total, each row a bit smaller than the last. Taken together the effect was like that of a jutting range of mountains giving way to equally pointed foothills surrounding its barbed tongue.

The upper part of the jaw provided another surprise. Halfway through, the palate abruptly plunged upward to make room for a different sort of jaw. What appeared to be thick, rigid hairs hung down from this mouth-within-a-mouth.

“Those would be baleen,” Anton explained. “Whalebone, to be colloquial. The structure is unique to whales, and we believe its purpose is to filter out pieces of food that are too small to be substantial.”

Once I had satisfied myself with drawings of the massive teeth and baleen, I drew back from the creature’s jaw and stood righted myself. My eyes traced over a deep groove that had been slashed into the Leviathan’s upper lip and formed an ugly scar. Closer inspection revealed deeper punctures at even spacing, and what appeared to be cuts from something smaller and serrated in between. Speckled about either side of the groove were a smattering of perfectly circular incisions long healed over. Similar scars marred the entirety of the flesh about its jaw.

“It looks like this whale has been fighting, but with what? Other whales?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it. Those grooves don’t match up with the shape of another whale’s teeth. Whatever made them looks like it possessed longer, thinner teeth. Or claws, as it might be.”

“Could there be other creatures in the ocean depths that pose a threat to it?”

“Possibly. We know very little about a whale’s diet, but these teeth belong to a carnivore, that much is clear.”

“What about all that material in the upper part of its head?”

“Most of it is extremely hard blubber, especially at the front.”

I looked at the overall shape of the front of the whale’s head. “A battering ram?”

“Most likely. If you take a look, you’ll see more scars on the front. It also houses the brain. Between bone, tendons, and cartilage, the butchers tend to throw away most of that part. Even the blubber there is considered too tough to bother removing most of the time. Come, I’ll show you a section of softer blubber, so you can see just how tough it is in comparison.”

Anton moved downwards along the whale’s side to where it had already been opened by the butchers. He slid a short blade into the cross-section of flesh where a layer of yellowish white met a layer of red and pink.

“The top layer is the the blubber, and the red here is the muscle. As you see, blubber is not the soft sort of fat that one might find in a blood ox, for instance.”

He tried to pry some of the heavy blubber loose with the utterly inadequate knife. I didn’t need to see it fully dislodged to get an appreciation for just how tough and thick it was. The creature’s hide was like the stiffest of leather.

With a huff he relented. “I really need to develop an automated saw for getting into these beasts more easily. Anyway, while the oil gland produces whale oil, it is stored throughout the blubber after exiting the organ. That is what those large tanks are for. They boil down the blubber to remove what whale oil remains after the beast dies.”

“Why do the whales store it there? For what purpose? What does whale oil do?”

“You’re asking questions that no one in the Academy knows the answer to. Not even Piero, despite his insistence otherwise. Hypotheses abound, of course, but I really can’t say why these whales produce such a volatile substance.”

“Does that mean that we’ve built this entire city on a substance which we don’t even understand?”

“Yes. Absurd though it sounds, that is the truth of the matter. All we do know is that it’s an extremely combustible substance produced by an organ in the chest cavity. There it is, in fact.”

He pointed to a place on the bottom of the whale’s rib cage, just under the stub where the butchers had removed the frontal fin. An immense, lopsided, dark grey sack lay on the floor of the cavity, already ripped open on one side and drained of all its contents save for the few glowing specks of whale oil dotting each side of the rupture.

“While this organ has the potential to create an unlimited supply of whale oil, the beast itself cannot. Being out of the water for extended lengths of time causes dehydration. Not to mention, a whale is slowly crushed by its own bulk without the surrounding water to support it.”

I recalled with a jolt of empathy the times when I had spent so long standing before a painting that my ribs began to ache. It must have been many time worse for the whale. In an adjacent room, a still living whale was being harvested of its oil. The Leviathan bellowed a constant low growl, simultaneously soft as leaves fluttering in the wind and deafening as a crashing waterfall. I heard it more with my body than my ears, as if it weren’t intended to travel through the air. From its slight shuddering convulsions it seemed that the whale sang with all its body. Was it reciting a melancholy ballad of its pain?

“The pain sounds incredible,” I muttered.

“I’m sure it is. It’s clear enough from their behavior that whales can feel pain, but at least they don’t possess emotion as we do. It doesn’t truly suffer. It isn’t afraid to die.”

That ghostly, rolling song told me otherwise.

He sighed. “Don’t tell anyone of this, but statistics show that we’re getting less and less oil out of each whale they bring in. They don’t travel as close to the Isles as they used to. Whalers have needed to go further and further afield to find them. That, of course, means they spend a longer time on the ships bringing them back, and so they die more quickly once they reach the slaughterhouse.”

“The whales are disappearing?” I breathed. “What would happen if they were all to vanish?”

His brow furrowed at the thought. “That, I don’t know. All my technologies work unanimously on whale oil, and I know of no other power source potent enough to support our civilization. But there’s more to it than just mere power. Our industrialization didn’t begin at the turn of this century, you see. The revolution to the face of this city is only the latest in a series of advancements that have made our civilization what it is. Medicine in particular. We can cure diseases that would have been a death sentence a century ago. That means there are more people leaving in the Isles than ever before. Our land is limited. Traditional agriculture isn’t sufficient to feed our numbers. Even if we had some  other viable power source aside from whale oil, we’d still need to hunt whales for their meat. I’m afraid there is no easy answer to that.”

***

A chunk of marble left over from one of Anton’s sculptures proved large enough for me to practice my sculpting on. A whale of newfound anatomical accuracy took form from the asymmetric marble. Anton had only been teaching me sculpture for only a year, and I had already taken to it rather well. The half-formed Leviathan burst out of the base of the statue, imitating the powerful breach of it’s real-life counterpart. Its massive jaw hung slightly open, revealing only the outermost row of savage teeth, each in reality as large as a man’s head. The carved eye had captured the semblance of the intensely writhing yellow orb, despite being cast in cold, white stone. Between teeth and eye, I had captured that mysterious expression utterly indecipherable to a human, and perfectly natural for a whale. I stopped from admiring my work to continue chiseling carefully away at the shape of its fins and trailing tentacles. Had I been more at home with the art of sculpture, I would have attempted to form the marble so as to look like seafoam trailing from the body of the whale, but as it was, I only had enough skill to shape smooth and clear-cut planes. As the light shifted over the course of the afternoon, the figure of the little whale grew more and more sinister and mysterious from the play of shadows within the grooves. Only when I was struggling to make out the form clearly did I realize the late afternoon had turned to evening.

Had I really been working that long? I should have been on my way home to the bakery by now. I turned to leave, but the open book on the work table caught my eye. It was full of notes about whale anatomy, to supplement what I hadn’t had time to make careful observations about back at the slaughterhouse. Anton would need that back. I’d return it quickly, then hire a coach back before it got too dark.

I made haste up the industrial metal stairway, a relic of the building’s former life. Anton's impressive collection of books was kept upstairs, near his bedroom and laboratory. One side of an entire hallway had been installed with bookshelves. Every single inch of it was packed with everything from cryptic doorstoppers about obscure theories of natural philosophy to the history of the Isles, to a series of erotic novels whose titles I wish I hadn’t read.

I entered the upper floor hallway to find Anton slumped in an armchair. I could hear his snoring all the way from here. What’s more, he had two for company. The first was an empty bottle. The second was a scantily clad woman attempting to prod him into wakefulness.

The presence of this invader caused the hairs on the back of my head to stand up. I knew him to visit the brothels on occasion, but I wanted to distance myself from that side of him as much as possible. My attempt to ignore her as I shelved the anatomical notes back into their proper place was not mutually respected.

“You’re the apprentice artist, aren’t you? I saw you sculpting when I came in, but you might not have heard over the sound of all your chiseling. We’d both assumed you would have left by now. All the servants have.”

“I had to return these notes,” I said flatly without looking at her.

She continued anyway. “You know, he spoke very highly of you, despite the slur from the wine. You should have heard him go on about how clever and talented you were, and how proud he was of you. Only thing, he couldn’t say your name clearly through all the alcohol. What’s your name? Daria?”

“Delilah. Delilah Copperspoon.”

This meant that we were going to have to shake hands now, didn’t it?

“Breanna Thatcher. Pleased to meet you.”

It did.

Not wishing to be rude, I turned to face her. Looking at her up close for the first, I found her to be surprisingly quite striking. Her face was all high cheekbones, thin lips, and hawkish beauty. It was emphasized all the more by supple eyeshadow and topped by subtle waves of black pulled partway back. I took her hand in a brisk shake. Her palms were soft and smooth, leaving me embarrassed at the comparatively rough texture of an artist’s hands.

“You’re being quite civil, considering.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a courtesan, and one caught in the presence of your beloved mentor, no less. I would have expected you to come barrelling down the hallways telling me to get my claws away from him. You didn’t even reject my handshake.”

“It’s only proper.”

“Not to greet someone of such distinctly lower social standing as if you were on even ground.”

“I’m not an aristocrat.”

“No, but you have their bearing. Besides, an artist is looked upon more fondly than a courtesan in this lovely social hierarchy of ours.”

“Those are odd words coming from a prostitute.”

“Please, I prefer the term courtesan. In fact, I chose my profession so I could get away with saying such things.”

She gave me a crooked look, daring me to challenge her.

“And men will pay for your attitude?”

“Of course. I don’t charge a hundred fifty coins a visit just to be a pretty face.”

“One hundred fifty? Who in the world would pay that much?”

“The ladies of the Golden Cat are the finest in the Isles for a reason. It seems Sokolov agrees with me.”

“It looks like the bottle did a better job than you did. He should be paying it instead.”

Her laugh was high and musical. “That’s why I’m only charging a hundred coins this time around.”

“How very generous of you.”

“That’s just the problem, though. I would already be on my way back to the Cat, but I haven’t gotten my payment yet. He was already mildly drunk when I got here. I needed him to pay me, but he drank himself to sleep first.”

“He’s not waking up anytime soon, judging from the sound of those snores.”

She held her finger beneath her chin. “Perhaps you could pay me then, and get the money back when he wakes up tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Oh? Are you sure you want to leave me alone with him? I’m not leaving until I get my payment.”

I sighed. “Fine. But you have to help me get him into his bed. I’m not going to leave him to spend the entire night like that.”

“He looks heavy.”

“So does your soon-to-be-purse, which I’m not giving you until he’s in bed.”

“Very well.”

Since I appeared to be the stronger of the two of us, I lifted Anton’s shoulders, and Breanna took his legs. He was made of tightly packed Tyvian constitution, just as she’d feared. We kept needing to stop because my partner kept  insisting her arms were tired, but I was handling it pretty well.

“Before he fell asleep,” Breanna said between heavy breaths. “He kept talking about whales for some reason. They seemed to be making him upset. I couldn’t tell precisely why because of his slurring.”

“That? We visited a slaughterhouse recently. He showed me several of its anatomical features. Does that answer your question?”

“Somewhat. Though, I must admit, I’m jealous of you for having had the chance to be taught by the Head of the Academy himself. Not many women would get that sort of education. I’ve had to teach myself through asking questions and borrowing books from my clients. Yet, you’ve done all that without having to sacrifice a bit of yourself.”

“And here a moment ago you were telling me to call you a courtesan.”

We had half-carried and half-dragged Anton to the side of the bed now. With a coordinated heave, we laid Anton out on it. He’d wake up tomorrow wearing the same clothes, but at least he wouldn't be left with a monstrous crick in his neck.

“Life isn’t always fair. I didn’t want to be a stupid, unlearned wench always being taken advantage of by my ‘betters.’” A hint of sorrow wormed its way into her voice. “I achieved half of that desire. But If I could be in your shoes, I would.”

The coins fell into my hands from out of my purse and I began sorting out the right amount of coin, some of the reluctance faded.

“It’s not always so bad," she said, "if you can muster a physical attraction to your client, but when there isn’t... No offense, but Sokolov--”

“I’ve tried to teach him table manners many times and never succeeded, believe me.”

Her mood lightened with another soft laugh. “I suppose I shouldn’t complain. I already have so much more than many women. It isn’t quite enough. There’s still something missing.”

Something about those words struck a chord with me. By all means I should have been satisfied as well, but whatever it was was still gnawing at me. It was as if I should be something greater, that there was a destiny unfulfilled. That the world owed me more than I had been given.

I let the coins drop into her hand.

“So, about those whales…”

This time I decided to indulge her curiosity as we hurried down to street level.

“Whale oil is incredibly potent. Burning it in controlled amounts powers our technologies. For all that power, however, we have no idea what it is, or what the whale uses it for.”

“So we live in a society built completely on a substance that we don’t even know the true nature of?”

“Precisely what I was thinking," I said. Maybe this intruder was more akin to than I thought. "It makes everything we see seem so fragile, doesn’t it? A whale continues to produce oil until it dies. Yet between the fact that whalers on average need to travel farther to find whales, and that being out of the water slowly kills them, means that yields of whale oil are slowly declining. I suggested the idea, and it clearly troubled him greatly.”

“I can see why he was drinking. And wanted company.," she said, face suddenly darkening. "That means that if things continue the way they are now, that could make everything he’s invented for naught, right?”

“Even worse, we need whale meat for food. Losing power for our technology is one thing. Mass starvation is another. He once told me of his travels to Pandyssia. The expedition team discovered the remains two ruined cities that were abandoned due to some unknown catastrophe. It became one of his ambitions to use his genius to develop technologies that could save ourselves from a similar disaster.

She tilted her head to the side, as if surprised by this. “That’s more noble than I would have expected from him. I’d assumed he did what he did out of pure love for natural philosophy.”

“I don’t think he would be nearly so prolific an inventor if he didn’t have that ambition,” I supplied.

“That’s a keen observation. It sure would explain why half the advancements in the field of natural philosophy have his name attached to them.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“So, what you told him made him doubt that validity of what he was doing? That he might be dooming our civilization at the same time as he’s saving it?”

“Exactly. It’s like he told me. There are no easy answers, and also… entropy always increases. We can fight it, but in so doing, we may just be driving ourselves closer to ruin.”

“You think of dark things. Now I think I need a drink too.”

We were silent until we found a waiting coach at the north side of Kaldwin’s Bridge.

“I’m headed to 37 Teil Street,” I told the driver.  
“Teil Street? What a coincidence. That’s not too far from the Golden Cat. I believe I’ll share the ride with you.”

Far from my original coldness, I found myself rather willing to continue speaking with her. We split the fare and clambered into the coach, sitting across from each other. With all the changes Dunwall was undergoing, it wouldn't be long before there were enough of those new street cars to render coached useless within the city boundaries. For now, however, a horse drawn vehicle was still the best way back. With a snap of the reigns, the coach set off southward over the bridge.

“So, how did you come to be Sokolov’s apprentice? I take it you’re not a noblewoman, despite your bearing. Aristocrats don’t become artists.”

“He invited me, actually. Someone sent him an anonymous letter of recommendation.”

“An anonymous letter. Oh, how mysterious.” Her eyes fluttered wider with fascination under the dark violet eyeshadow.

“I’m glad for the opportunity, even if it the circumstances around it were strange. I was just the daughter of a former servant and cook back when… before we opened our bakery. Fortunately, I was skilled enough at painting to impress Sokolov, letter or no.”

“Hm. Is it possible your parents sent that letter? If I had a child that talented, I would certainly do whatever I could to get that talent recognized.”

“I doubt it. My mother wanted the best for me, but she would never be so outrageous as to pick the most famous artist in the Empire.”

“Your father, then.”

“That’s even less likely. Besides, he’s dead now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

The conversation faded out before Breanna started it up again.

“You still live at the bakery?”

“Yes, in the apartment above it. I work there too, on days when Sokolov isn’t teaching me. With her health the way that it is, she can’t bake at all some days. She occasionally had terrible coughing fits and exhaustion. Selling paintings has been able to make up for that, but it’s getting worse. I thought it was just a single incident at first, but these fits keep happening. I don’t know what to think.”

After another silence, we managed to get caught up in a more light-hearted conversations about the latest show at the Dunwall Opera, the best way to evenly warm an entire building, and the subtle difference in flavor of fruits grown in Gristol and Morley. By the time the coach rolled up in front of the bakery, I felt loathe to part from her company. Only with a handful of people had I been able to hold such engaging conversations, and she had easily proven herself among them. A reluctant farewell later, and the coach rattled off into the darkness between the street lamps.

I ascended the steps. The bakery door opened without a key. Had my mother forgotten to lock it? No, it was just her body, not her mind that was ailing her. Opening the rickety door, I found the main floor unoccupied, but not completely cleaned up. Several baskets filled with the day’s bread still occupied the shelves behind the counter. My mother should have removed them hours ago. I crossed over behind the counter and took one in each arm to do the job for her.

As I turned around the corner toward the stairs, I discovered my mother lying there. The baskets she was carrying had fallen to the floor, sending boules scattered across the steps. The two baskets I was carrying dropped to join them.

I rushed down to her. Feverish, but still breathing.

***

Out of the two people I had dragged into bed that day, how I wish the former was here to assist the latter. Surely Anton would have seen something like this before at the Academy. But he was out cold half a city away and wouldn’t wake up until late the next day with a massive headache. Even he were still awake, I couldn’t leave me mother alone like this. So I just sat there, keeping the whale oil burning and spooning water into her mouth.

She mumbled incoherently in her sleep periodically. In the early hours after midnight, she opened her eyes.

“Mother!” I grasped her hand gently. “How are you feeling? What happened?”

“Delilah…” she coughed.

I instinctively filled the ladle with water and brought it to her lips. After a few swallows, her voice came out more easily.

“Last I remember, I was preparing to close shop. You still hadn’t shown up. I was starting to get worried. I felt ill. Faint. Kept telling myself you could take care of yourself. Tried to distract myself with taking the baskets up. Then… I don’t recall.”

“I found you collapsed on the stairs. You had a fever and were breathing slowly. Now that you’re awake, I’ll go find a doctor. You’ll be fine! Just wait and see!”

“Delilah, I don’t think--” she winced in pain as she tried to turn sideways to keep looking at me.

“Don’t move. Just stay here and rest. I’ll be back soon.”

“Wait. Before you go, there are some things I wish to say to you.”

I settled back into the chair beside her bed to listen.

“Sometimes things like this happen, and you can’t control any of it. Just like with having to leave the Tower. Or with the poor late Empress. She always did have trouble conceiving, what with her illness. Jessamine takes after her mother. Fortunately, she had none of her frailty. The Emperor was a strong man, at least. Please, put the past behind you and go see Jessamine again. I’m sure she would be delighted to see you.”

She paused to think of her next words, the precursor of a tear appearing in her eyes.

“When you were just a baby, I thought to myself, ‘this child of mine may not be an Empress like Jessamine, or even anyone particularly special, but tear out my eyes if I won’t try to give her the best life possible!’ That’s way I made arrangements with the Emperor to allow you to live in the Tower as a playmate for Jessamine. You’d have had the best education and care I could offer so long as we stayed.”

She swallowed, and I spooned her more water.

“I didn’t succeed back then, and I feared you’d become just another forgotten cog in Dunwall's machine. I’m not afraid of that anymore. Before I woke up, I had dreams that you would do great things, that you would change the way this world works for the better. When I look at you now, I see you’re already on your way. You’re smart, talented, creative, and apprenticed to Anton Sokolov of all people! You’ll make a name for yourself someday. I’m so proud of you, Delilah!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about real life whale anatomy, check out PBS' Inside Nature's Giants - Sperm Whale. It helped write this chapter, even though I added plenty of my own flourishes. In-game whales only have one row of teeth and a normal tongue.
> 
> Real life whale oil, called spermaceti comes from an organ in the head of sperm whales, rather than an organ in the chest cavity like the game depicts. It is known for making the best candles in the world, though it is not nearly as volatile as the game suggests. The name means 'whale semen,' because it's a milky white color, even though its an unrelated substance. Knowing that, now you can have fun throwing tanks of exploding whale semen at unsuspecting guards.


	4. Chapter 4

“There are any number of maladies those symptoms could have been indicators of,” said Anton.

“It was just so sudden. I really hoped she would get better. She always had before.”

I held the bouquet of delicate white roses tighter, unwilling to set them down, as if that would be admitting she was really gone. The stubs where thorns had been dug into the palms of my hands.

The cemetery around us was far emptier than it should have been. I suppose no one did care about a former baker from Dunwall Tower after all. Only the birds were singing. Nothing about its peacefulness reflected the turmoil of losing my mother. The silence insulted me. It provided nothing to distract me from the gravity of the funeral.

“Now I have no one left.”

“Don’t say that. You have me. You have Jessamine. Ever since she found out you’d become my apprentice, she’s been asking after you.”

“What do you expect me to do? Go running back to her? I’ve already learned the hard way I’m unwanted there. Dunwall Tower is no place for a lowly baker's apprentice.”

“How about a place for the apprentice of the Royal Physician himself and the former playmate of the Empress?”

“That was long time ago.”

“Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin has been dead for some time. There’s nothing stopping you from going back there now, child.”

“The pain.”

“Pardon?”

“It still hurts, even after all this time. I don’t want to open old wounds wider.”

“What if I invited Jessamine to the studio instead?”

“No. She’s part of it.”

Anton sighed and ran his fingers through the black hairs of his beard. “If you won't go to her, than what about your relatives? Did she have any brothers or sisters you could contact? Cousins, perhaps.”

I shook my head. “She was from northern Girstol. I never saw her send or receive a letter from any extended family members. Maybe she was on bad terms with them, or there was no family for her to keep in touch with. I don’t know. She didn’t like to talk about her time before coming to Dunwall and getting a position at the Tower.”

“In that case, it’s all the more important that you don’t shut us out. Both Jessamine and I care about you and don’t want to see you suffering. Don’t force yourself to be alone. You don’t have to be.”

“I… Before she died, she said something like that. She told me to put the past behind me, and to meet with Jessamine.”

“She was a good woman. Honor her last wishes.”

“You’re right. Her last words were of how proud she was of me.”

He placed his hand on my shoulder. “That means she died happily, regardless of the pain.”

“Am I really worthy of such pride? I don’t want to disappoint her.”

I felt his fingers clench firmly against my shoulder. “Completely. I’ll have you know that you are one of my greatest students. Do you know why I say that? It’s not because you’ve read every book out there and understand all the obscurest subjects of study in excruciating detail, or because you’ve graduated from the Academy of Natural Philosophy with highest marks. Though I would certainly have encouraged you to apply if you were a man. No, I say this because of who you are. You’re intelligent, observant, and most of all inquisitive. You have the mind of a true artist, not an unimaginative bureaucrat. Not many students would beg and beg for me to show them the anatomy of a real whale for months on end.” A slight chuckle escaped his lips at that. “Most wouldn’t desire to stray so far from their respective disciplines either, but your curiosity led you there nonetheless. Given enough time, I’m certain you could master anything you set out to learn, even that which is beyond our current level of understanding. One can’t teach a natural philosopher to be an artist, but one can teach an artist to be a natural philosopher.”

Is that how Anton really saw me? A part of me, hidden away somewhere in the empty crevices of my heart, still was gnawing away at me, telling me his words weren’t true. But the sound of the singing birds and Anton’s speech drowned it out.

“Anton, thank you for being there for me. And for what you said just now. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

I turned to see him smiling. At least as much as the old man could smile. “Of course, child. Now let’s finally give your mother those flowers she’s been waiting for, and be on our way.”

I did so, and we strode back along the central walkway of the cemetery. It really was a lovely place to rest. Trees shaded the rows of gravestones, and tenacious little wildflowers bloomed in the carpet of grass. It wasn’t very large, but it was a pleasant little sanctuary on the edge of the city, removed from the constant clamor of Dunwall. Behind the walls, the land rolled off into the green hills, woodland, and the occasional half-timbered hamlet that characterized Gristol’s countryside.

“Perhaps I will go pay Jessamine a visit, as you both suggested.”

“Glad to hear it. The Empress is a busy woman, but there is a state dinner next month that I have been invited to. I’ll look into getting another invitation.”

***

Anton laid a thick leather-bound book on the table. It had no title written on its side or cover. Since he clearly had something to say, I put down the sculpture tools beside it to show I was listening.

“This is a hand-written copy of the Metaphysika Mysterium. I’ve been working on making it for nearly three years. Believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

I lifted the cover and leafed through its pages. Anton’s small, tight handwriting was recognizable in that it was distinctly neater than the man himself. The book was over an inch thick, not including the cover. What had made him go through all the trouble?

“It’s the only existing study of the powers of the Void and how to harness them. Banned of course, but the Overseers have allowed for a few copies to exist, seeing as one of their own conducted the research.”

“Really?” I looked at him with surprise.

“They executed him for heresy, of course. However, many of his discoveries proved useful to them, such as fine-tuning their music boxes, so they didn’t burn all copies along with him. While not completely illegal, getting the Abbey to give the Academy another copy was an extreme feat of persuasion.”

“Another copy? You mean you already had one?”

“About a decade ago, someone stole our only copy from the library. Carved ‘Ego homini lupus’ on shelf where it used to be. That means ‘I am a wolf to man’ in Old Serkonan, by the way. We never found the identity of thief, though several of the Serkonan students were placed under suspicion. Naturally the Abbey was loath to give us a replacement copy after that incident. I stepped up the effort to get another copy after you told me of the Empress’s powers. They eventually agreed, but only on the condition that it be remained locked away and bolted to the bookshelf with a chain. Seeing as they wouldn’t let a woman into the Academy, I had no other option but to create a copy in secret.”

“Anton, what are you saying? Why go to these lengths?”

“I want you to join me in unraveling the mysteries of our world and the Void beyond through use of the rituals within.”

I stiffened. “Black magic.”

“So the Overseers call it. But they proved they have small minds the day they executed the author for heresy. They could not appreciate the magnitude of his accomplishment. This book may help us uncover the secrets that may save our civilization."

“This is too close to why I was exiled in the first place.”

“Which is why I want your help. You’ve seen these forces in action, even if you cannot yet harness them yourself.”

“Yet? I don’t want to, ever. That sort of thing just causes pain.”

“Yes, the Empress said something to that effect as well when I tried to ask her about it. She was angry and refused to tell me anything about it. Perhaps you can get her to open up after next week’s dinner.”

“If Jessie-- Jessamine didn’t want to tell you anything, then you should respect that.”

“Nonsense. This is about the fate of our entire way of life. That is far more important than the mild, and might I mention very temporary, discomfort of one person. Do you have any idea how rare it is to find a subject actually capable of manifesting the forces of the Void? We have an opportunity to learn so much from her, if she would just be willing to cooperate. She must see how important this cause is, Empress or not.”

“This isn’t about whether or not she’s an Empress. It’s about the fact that she’s a human being. I don’t like it when you act this way. Sokolov.”

“Now is no time to start being fresh with me. I need your help with this matter. There aren’t many people who are both capable of tackling these mysteries and can be fully trusted. Don’t let your personal feeling get in the way. Just think of what we could accomplish if we managed to unlock the secrets of the Void.”

More heartache, most likely. But Anton had that unrelenting fire in his eyes, the sort that would never be quenched until he had found the knowledge he sought. Grudgingly, I decided to relent. I knew he would pursue it relentlessly anyway. Someone had to be there to keep him from harming himself and others along the way.

“Alright, Anton. I’ll help, if I can.”

He looked very much pleased to hear that, and pushed the Metaphysika Mysterium closer toward me.

“Read this book every chance you get. Tell me what you see. Experiment, if you can, and inform me of whatever you discover. It largely concerns the raw energies of the Void itself, and seeks to prevent the Outsider's direct involvement. As you would expect from an Overseer. However, the Outsider could prove an invaluable resource. He is a conscious being who has existed in the Void since the dawn of time. Just imagine how much we could learn from him!”

“Or he could corrupt our minds.”

“The ritual I am working to perfect should prevent that. I have not yet found the exact formula to summoning him, but I am nearing the answer. I can feel it. Once I perfect the ritual, then he will be bound to my will and compelled to answer my questions. I am preparing a ritual in a few day’s time. I would like you to attend and offer your own insight.”

I wonder if I should be surprised or not that this morning I had still just been an artist and now I was being pulled into heretical activity in a desperate race to save humanity from a hypothetical disaster.

But then, I wasn’t a stranger to my life taking wild, unexpected turns. Even if I didn’t always agree with Anton's methods, it was a noble goal. If nothing else, that was something I could get behind.

***

I reached the bottom of the flight of stairs leading into the basement of a dilapidated building notably a distance away from Kaldwin’s Bridge. The cellar was lit with a lavender glow, eerie, and a little dizzying. I spied the source on the other end of the room. Four cylindrical lanterns stood on either side of a twisted construction of rotten beams, scrap metal, barbed wire, and other worn and decaying paraphernalia. I shuddered with the memory of that all too innocent makeshift shrine on the edges of the Wrenhaven so many years ago. From the top of the offensive structure, exotic silk drapes were tied. Their supple fabric flowed over the walls of the room, hanging from rusty hooks in the walls.

The clinking of chains to my left alerted me to the presence of a mangy wolfhound raising its head in the corner of the room. The poor creature gave a little plainting whine, which transformed into a growl the moment Anton entered the room. It was fettered at the neck and by all four paws. The constraints rubbed at the dulled fur that clung tightly to its conspicuous ribcage. On the floor beneath it, I could make out dark stains.

“I found this particular location about four months ago,” he said. “I’m quite surprised the Overseers haven’t cleared it out yet. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. There are a number of these shrines to the Outsider about this city, but finding them can be difficult. Whenever the Overseers discover one, I’m forced to find another. It really is such a bother. I can’t conduct any research in the meantime.”

The wolfhound made a lunge at him as he walked by, but Anton didn’t seem to notice. He nudged one of the lanterns with a foot.

“Objects such as this and the drapery have been constant at all the shrines I have as of yet discovered. I do not know their significance, much less where they came from. I once tried taking apart one of these lanterns to determine how it was made. Alas, it exploded.”

“Anton, how long has that wolfhound been there?”

“Oh, don’t mind that beast. It’s just part of the ritual.”

“Have you even fed it?”

“Part of the ritual.” He turned to one of the drapes and lifted it to reveal a cabinet partially concealed behind them. “While locations of worship are an important find, even more valuable are these ritual formulas.”

“Ritual formulas?”

He produced a piece of water-stained paper. “I’ve come across a number of them in my years of searching. They are always written in obscure poetry, which makes interpretation a tricky matter. Some have produced results, but usually only a rune, or some other Void-touched object that appears after the steps are completed. I must continue to test all that I find, until I succeed in finding the correct formula for summoning the Outsider.”

“How could you even tell if you’d summoned him? He is a non-physical being, correct? He could appear in any form.”

“Actually, no, that does not seem to be case. In every description I’ve read of the Outsider, he always appears the same. A young man with deep black eyes. I did see him once myself, briefly. I had fallen asleep after drinking perhaps too much King Street Brandy. He appeared just as the sources describe him. It was but a fraction of a second, but it was enough to prove to me that he really exists.”

“You really think this will work?”

He shrugged. “It might. The only way to find out is to try. I don’t believe you need to participate, so you may just stand and watch, if you like.”

I leaned against the wall, wondering what was to happen next. The wolfhound jerked forward, tripping on its chains and fell to the ground. I watched as it found its footing again and its lips curled back into an unpleasant snarl. I wasn’t prepared for when Anton crossed over to it, holding an axe.

The wolfhound seized its opportunity. It lunged for him, jaws clamping down on Anton’s elbow. I started forward, unsure if it was with the intent to pry the wolfhound’s jaws off or to confiscate the axe.

Anton drew his other hand back to stop me. “This is part of the ritual. No need for you to get bitten too.”

He backed away slowly while twisting his arm upward until the hound’s neck was forced at such an angle that it had to let go. He inspected the injury for but a moment. Then, as I feared, he raised the axe.

It came down swiftly, decisively, and clawed into the back of the wolfhound’s neck. I let out a gasp as the poor hound simultaneously produced a horrible, gurgling sound. The axe had only cut part of the way through on the first try, so it rose again grimly and plunged down between the flesh and vertebrae. All but a strip of skin and sinew was cloven in two. That was quickly severed between the leverage of the axe blade and the hardness of the floor.

Once freed, he lifted it above his head like a grotesque hunting trophy. An expression caught in between terror and fury was frozen on its elongated snout. The gruesome sight he set down on the shrine, blood oozing into its framework. And he began chanting.

I looked down. My boots were splattered with droplets of the hound’s blood. Suddenly, I was sick with the situation I found myself in. Blood, death, Anton’s lack of concern, and now his heretical chanting. It filled me with an unearthly dizziness that brought me to the ground and made me shut my eyes against the world.

***

I opened them to another world entirely. I stood in the violet-lit basement, but not basement. At its edges, it broke apart into tinier and tinier pieces suspended in a sea of endless blue mist in all directions. I glanced around. Neither Anton nor the unfortunate wolfhound were present. Out beyond the island I was standing on, I could see other figures floating in the empty mist. A bridge of cobblestone and rock slabs led away from where I stood. With nowhere else to go, I followed it out into the mists.

Islands of half-formed structures like the one I had just left, and a myriad objects frozen in time decorated the empty space surrounding the suspended path. On my right, a pod of whales, one with its monstrous jaw held open as harpoons slammed into it backside. On my right, Anton stood but a statue as a raised arm held aloft a paintbrush.

I continued on. Vines formed about the ground at my feet. From them, roses bloomed in all colors. Reds, whites, pinks, yellows. Even a few that where blue. Standing among them, I passed the utterly still figure of that courtesan I had met, Breanna. She was dressed not in the revealing clothes of her profession, but rather a messy ensemble of wrinkled button-down shirt and jacket, finished off with a lady's top hat. Several of her ilk stood beyond, dressed similarly. What were they doing here? What was any of this doing here?

At the end of the walkway I found myself at a partially-made street. The effect was something like the set of a theatre production. I was walking along the stage and the facades of the buildings lining it were the backdrop. Looking them over, I realized that what I was strolling down a mockery of Teil street. There was the bakery, at the end of the floating island. Unlike the other buildings, its door was open, so I proceeded inside. It wasn’t the interior of the bakery I found there, but a rendition of the gardens before Dunwall Tower as I had seen in my youth. Dahlias, jasmines, roses, and all. How very strange this all was.

As I took in the scene, something materialized before me, and began speaking.

“You’ve borne witness to one of Sokolov’s obscene rituals, I see. He believes that by performing them, he may bind me to his will. He is sorely mistaken. Sokolov has it all already. Fame, wealth, power, legal amnesty. Therefore he will never meet me. You, Delilah, are much more interesting.”

A man with young, almost boyish features and uncomfortably deep, pitch-black eyes, as infinite as the Void itself. So here he was, just as Anton had described. The Outsider hovered in the air just before me.

And found me interesting?

“Cast out from your birth home, taken away from everything you’ve ever known at such a young age. All for what? A child’s innocent game? Or perhaps a convenient excuse to silence a problem? Despite so many years, those wounds haven't healed, have they?”

At that, something began searing into the back of my left hand. I looked down to see a glowing sigil of half circles and darting lines branding itself there. It glowed bright and golden for a moment and the coalesced into black.

“That is why I give you my Mark. With it, you will be able to harness the powers of the Void to your will. This is what is referred to as witchcraft. I’m sure you are already familiar with runes? Hunt them down by listening for their song, and they will grant you newfound powers in return. What you do from here on out is your choice. You have so much potential.”

He leaned forward, watching my mysterious with those dark, dark eyes.

“What will you do with your newfound powers? What future will you make for yourself and others? Whatever happens, I know that it will be a good show.”

With that, he dematerialized in the blink of an eye. The Void around me swam and blanked an instant later.

***

Anton stood over me, a concerned expression on his face. “It appears you passed out. I’m afraid that the ritual was a failure on my end. I don’t suppose you saw him while you were unconscious?”

“I can’t believe you just murdered that poor animal!” I burst out, purposefully changing the subject.

“Hm. I would have thought that the butchering wouldn’t have bothered you, after all the dissections we performed.”

“All those animals were already dead!”

I drew forward in preparation to stand. As my hands braced against the floor, I saw it, clear as day on the back of my left hand. When I rose, I did so with a turning motion so that my left side was pointed away from him.

Apparently, I done that too quickly. Vertigo seized me.

“Anton, I think I’m going to lose it.”

“Lose it? Lose what?”

I fell to the floor again and heaved.

Anton handed me a towel as he helped me back up. “Don’t worry about the mess, I’ll clean it up. Come. You need some rest, child. I’m sorry for forcing you into this so suddenly.”

My left hand weaseled its way into my jacket pocket. I turned it sideways, as if cradling my upset stomach as he led me from the room.


	5. Chapter 5

Anton had asked that I get a few days rest. He said I should ensure that I would feel well enough to attend Jessamine’s dinner tomorrow. It left me with time to ruminate on my new position. What did all this mean for me? Should I tell Anton what had really happened? Or should I conceal the Mark under a glove? I was right-handed, so it wouldn’t get in the way of painting. Anton would surely notice the change in fashion, of course. I couldn’t hide it forever that way.

After some time stirring in thoughts were leading me nowhere, I turned myself to the task of trying to riddle out just what those powers were that the Outsider claimed I would now have access to.

The first was easy enough to discover. While contemplating the nature of this magic, I found myself standing on the other side of the room in the blink of an eye. It had come naturally, just as I could move my arm without thinking about it, as if I had always known how to do it. The Mark glowed warm each time I blinked forward. It reminded me that it was part of my body now.

Next, I began to wonder about the limits of this power. How far could I blink? Could I close the space between me and somewhere else with no solid ground in between? Seeking more of a challenge, I opened the doors to my balcony and set my sights on the balcony across the way. I swallowed and gathered my courage. Falling from his height might not kill me unless I landed on my head, but it would certainly break a few bones. I had to find out if it was possible, however. Holding my breath, I blinked, and found myself safely on my neighbor’s balcony. My boots were planted firmly on a solid surface with no complications, much to my satisfaction.

The next logical step was to look up at the roof of my apartment. It wasn’t so slanted that I would fall off. So I gathered myself up again and performed a blink to the roof. My ankles adjusting to the new incline beneath my feet and I opened my eyes to look about. From up here, I got a decent view over the city. Walls of brick and mortar enclosed dusty streets below and trails of smoke wafted upwards from the chimneys to meld with the overcast sky above. I could even see the top of Kaldwin’s Bridge in the distance. I figured that there were few who got to see a view like this, but that might have been for the best. The rows and rows of rooftops made one feel small and insignificant, even more so than at the labyrinthine confines of street level. It was as if I were just a small, replaceable component in a much larger industrial machine that drove on and on, whether one liked it or not. Those who didn’t were crushed and thrown aside by its sheer power, and I was most likely among them, a Marked heretic as I was.

Now was no time to be thinking of such things. I attempted to distract myself once again by gazing over the edge of the roof, down to the streets below. Could I blink down there to avoid a fall? I eyed the open space on the stoop just before the bakery door, and willed myself to be there. In an instant, I was standing there, as easily as before.

And on the other side of the street, a man had stopped mid-stride, staring at me, eyes wide. I must have missed him from my viewpoint. He had been walking just under the neighbor’s balcony at the moment before my blink, so I didn't even know he was there.

“Witchcraft!” he blurted as he stumbled backwards against a brick wall.

“What are you talking about?” I called out as calmly as possible. It was all I could do. 

“You just appeared out of nowhere!”

“I came out the door.”

“Don’t lie to me! I was looking in that direction when I saw you appear. The door didn’t open. One moment there was no one there, then you were standing in front of it. That’s black magic, isn’t it? Keep away from me!”

“I assure you, I--”

The brick he had lobbed caught me mid-sentence. It flew straight for my head. I tried to react in time, but it was already too late. It struck me in the temple with a cracking pain that forced my eyes closed. When the initial shock was over, I opened them again to find myself gazing at Kaldwin’s Bridge in the distance.

I lifted my hand to where the brick had struck me, only to find smooth skin with no hints of blood or trauma of any sort. How had I gotten back up here? I certainly didn’t consciously blink back. There hadn’t been time, and I had certainly felt that brick hit me.

Unless… The distance crossed might have been too far to actually blink to. I turned to face the neighbor’s balcony and focused on the same sensation that had sent me to the ground. Sure enough, I found myself standing there, on the balcony, looking across the way back at myself standing on the rooftop of the bakery.

Suddenly I was seeing out of two pairs of eyes. One was looking down at the balcony, and the other looking up at the roof. I lifted my right arm, and both bodies responded simultaneously. Disoriented, I took a step back, and I was further unbalanced by the sensation of walking in two different directions. I stopped when I felt myself stumbling from the mixed signals and tried to right myself back into one body. The double vanished from the balcony and I felt an instant sense of relief.

This wasn’t blinking. Whatever it was, it was something much trickier. I needed a name for it. Projection, maybe? It was a good a name as any.  One thing was certain. It would take quite a bit more experimenting than with my blinks to truly understand. With it, I figured I could send myself, or at least a copy of myself, much further distances than with blinking. Just how far? I closed my eyes and tried to picture a place I was familiar with.

***

I opened my eyes. Dunwall Tower loomed above me.

A quick glance was enough to assure me that no one was looking in my direction. There was no way to tell ahead of time who would be watching when I projected myself to the Tower. Only half of it was blind luck, however. I knew where the guards tended to stand watch, and had picked a spot away from all of them, in the archway between the Tower’s forecourt and the southern gardens. That was, of course, based on the assumption that things hadn't changed in over fifteen years, but it was an assumption that was proving true.

Even if the guards’ habits hadn’t changed, the gardens certainly had. Everything charming about them had been stripped bare, and replaced with starkly contained hedges and flowerbeds. Instead of a carefully crafted landscape of picturesque trees and delicate flowers that changed their compositions with the seasons, all potential for horticultural beauty was torn asunder to make room for wide open pathways and cobblestones. A pair of shrubs had been forced into a bulbous caricature of a whale on either side of the base of the palace stairs. There was a small island of green in the center of the forecourt that was host to what was probably a yew tree, its spreading branches severed and the remaining limbs manicured into a perfect cone shape. More than half the visible flowers were selected for their unimaginative semblance to Kaldwin blue. Even the wild tangles of the rose bushes were beaten back into mock-trees with circular foliage above an isolated stalk. It was tame. It was geometrical. It was vile.

In disgust, I turned away. Perhaps the southern gardens weren’t as horrendously butchered by the new head gardener as those in the forecourt. As I recalled, there was a space to my left that had housed a small pond with water-loving plants around its edges. Anticipation flooded me as I rounded the corner.

It was unwarranted. The pond was long gone, but at least the plant varieties that had replaced were allowed to grow in relative freedom. It was even marked by vines and a tree whose twisting branches were luckily not manipulated by a misguided gardener’s hands.

But for all this, it wasn’t the plants that had seized my attention as soon as I rounded the corner. It was the man and the woman pressed up against the wall, completely engaged in a passionate kiss. The man, I didn’t recognize. He wore a greatcoat of a dark hue that matched his unfashionably long and loose hair. The woman, however...

“Jessie?”

At my voice, they retracted from one another with surprise and clumsy embarrassment. Jessamine straightened herself as quickly as possible. Her cheeks were still flushed despite her attempts at composure. The man on the other hand, had wedged himself between me and Jessamine, giving me a wary, challenging look. He had pulled back the folds of his greatcoat to make prominent that his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, and further that there was a pistol waiting in the holster behind it.

Jessamine gazed me over with scrutiny for a moment. “Delilah?”

I was surprised she recognized me, after so many years apart and we had both grown up. It was likely my use of her childhood nickname that alerted her. I, on the other hand, could tell who she was at an instant. As Empress, her face was emblazoned on every single coin. The depictions hardly had to be romanticized. Jessamine was equally as regal in the flesh as in any artist's rendering. What appeared to be an effortlessly sophisticated bearing must have been drilled into her through years of practice and refinement. It was all there, from her well-fitted, yet minimalist dress, to her tightly bound hair without a strand out of place. The only significant conversion for her portraits was a subtler application of eyeshadow, for her real-life eyelids were weighted down with a heavy dose of the colored powder.

“Yes. It’s me,” I replied simply, not sure whether to be happy or ashamed.

“It’s been such a long time. I can scarcely believe it,” she said, drawing forward.

I hoped she wouldn’t try to embrace me or shake my hand. If that brick was any indication, physical contact would disrupt the projection. Fortunately, the combination of her deportment and the embarrassment of having been caught in the midst of a tender moment kept her from drawing closer. Who was her companion, precisely? She wasn't married, even if she did have a daughter. Given that she was Empress, it seemed everyone had decided not ask questions when the heir was born.

“Peace, Corvo," she said, laying a hand in his shoulder. "This woman is a childhood friend of mine. She’s a good person. You can trust her.”

Corvo’s grimace lightened to a near smile for a moment as he looked into Jessamine’s eyes. The muscles beneath his heavy coat relaxed and his hand dropped to his side. He still retained a hint of suspicion in his calculated movements, but seemed more than willing to trust Jessamine’s words.

“Delilah, this is Corvo Attano. He’s the Royal Protector, you see, so if I could ask for your discretion…”

“Of course. I won’t tell anyone.” I turned my head to Corvo. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Attano. My name is Delilah Copperspoon.”

“A pleasure,” he responded bluntly. Like Jessamine, he remained in place so I didn’t have to come up with an impolite excuse for avoiding a hand shake.

“Delilah, there’s another thing I must ask of you. I don’t mean to be unfriendly, especially after seeing you again for the first time in well over a decade, but I must ask that you not come here again without prior notice. For security reasons, you understand.”

“I apologize. I didn’t intend to meet anyone here. I just wanted to have a quick look at what’s been done to the gardens, and be on my way.”

“You could have made that known to me. I would certainly have been glad to give you a tour. Or you might have waited until the dinner tomorrow. Sokolov has told me of your plans to attend. He’s also said that you were his apprentice. Why didn’t you join him for a visit to the Tower? I even asked after you multiple times.”

“I felt unwelcome here.”

“That… I understand. Please know that those times have passed.”

“Mommy!” called a young voice, interrupting the conversation.

I turned to see a bright-eyed child as she ran through the gardens and stopped before the Empress. Her little arms were held up, clutching something glistening in her little hands. It must have been the heir. I couldn’t recall her name.

“I found you something pretty!”

“My, is that sea glass? Thank you very much Emily. Just remember, not all glass is worn smooth like this is. If it has edges, don’t touch it.”

“Okay, mommy.”

Jessamine pocketed the sea glass, and turned to me. “This is my daughter Emily. Emily, this is Delilah. She is an old friend of mother’s.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Emily.”

She didn’t say anything, and drew closer to her mother and Corvo.

“Return the greeting, please, sweetie,” Jessamine requested.

“She’s scary. I think she wants to eat me.”

Jessamine laughed pleasantly. Even Corvo voiced a small barely audible chuckle. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. She’s not going to eat you.”

Emily shook her head and sought shelter behind the length of Corvo’s greatcoat. He smiled and reached down to stroke the child’s dark hair. It was loving, almost as if he were--

Oh.

I glanced back at the bodyguard. His skin was a shade too dusky to be Gristolian, and his loose locks framed a face of sharply defined features. Men had never particularly struck my fancy, but this one was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. If his relative silence was anything to go by, there was the added appeal of mystery. It was bound to happen. But from their sideways glances and the kiss I ha found them locked in earlier, I could tell I wasn’t looking at a youthful mistake. I was looking at a happy family.

Oh, Emily, you don’t know how lucky you are.

“Corvo, might I ask that you stay here and play with Emily. I’d like to speak with Delilah in private for a moment.”

For a moment, the suspicion flashed in his eyes again. He didn’t move on it, and nodded to her.

Jessamine and I strode in the direction of the gazebo on the western side of the Tower. After a few strides, I caught a sideways glimpse of the ugly forecourt gardens through the archway.

“I have to say, I don’t particularly approve of the new head gardener. This area is decent, but it’s nothing compared to the old gardener, back when we were children. I don’t even want to mention the disgusting mess that is the forecourt.”

“He tells me it’s the latest fashion. I don’t know plants like you, Delilah, so I leave it up to him.”

“What happened to the old gardener?”

“He retired quite some years ago and has since passed away. The gardens he designed were beautiful, yes, but having a forest in front of the Tower proved to be more trouble than it was worth for me. Father might have been fond of plants, but I never shared that interest with either him or you."

I couldn't imagine how that cruel man could possibly care about plants?

"Did you know that the old gardener was the head horticultural planner for the Brigmores before they lost their fortune? If his work here is any indication, I’m certain that the mansion they owned just outside of town has become a jungle by now.”

“That would be a sight to see. He was truly a talent. I don’t suspect any gardener will ever be his equal. May he rest in peace.”

We now stood in the gazebo. To my distaste, the vines that had once crawled up the pillars had been removed. The again, when I had stood here last, all the bridges over the Wrenhaven had been made of stone instead of iron. We stood there, taking in the view for a moment. Jessamine exuded sadness, now that she was apart from Corvo and her daughter. She watched them playing a game of hide-and-seek with morose eyes.

“He’s the father, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Please don’t tell anyone. Please. I haven’t even told Emily, for fear that she might tell someone. I’m sure she’ll figure it out when she’s older. She’s a smart child. I expect her to be able to keep a secret by then.”

We watched their game for a moment more. It was almost comical to see the serious, taciturn  man transform into the young girl’s playmate. He clearly loved her just as much as Jessamine did.

I caught a trickle of fear in Jessamine’s voice when she spoke again. “I haven’t told them about my powers either. I don’t want to see them suffer because of me. Like you did. I’m so sorry.”

“You did nothing. It was the Emperor who banished me.”

“Only because of my curse.”

“Jessamine. It was an excuse. I was inconvenient to him. He would have found some other reason to send me away before I got old enough to start asking questions. You know that.”

“My powers only brings down misery on others. I can’t tell anyone about them. They’ll only end up getting hurt.” Suddenly the tone of her voice changed to anger. “Why did you tell him?”

“What?”

“Why did you tell Sokolov?”

She laid a surprisingly firm hand on my shoulder, turning me to face her blazing eyes for that fraction of a second before my projection was interrupted.

***

I stood again, far away from the Tower on the roof of the bakery. I wondered how Jessamine had reacted when I had suddenly disappeared on her. Did she suspect I had powers now, too? I was lucky that we were alone when it had happened. If there was one person I would feel comfortable sharing my powers with, it was her. It felt good to know that there was someone out there who shared the same dark secrets as me. I considered projecting back to the Tower to speak with her again, but thought better of it. Corvo had been distracted by his game with Emily at the time, but for all I knew, he could be standing by Jessamine’s side right now. I didn’t want to reveal my powers to him any more than Jessamine did, although I suspected Corvo would be understanding, even supportive if she ever did get up the nerve to tell him. I would see her tomorrow, anyway. We would certainly speak more then. In the meantime, I turned to find my way back down into my apartment.

And I found that an elderly woman stood there on the rooftop with me. She was gazing straight at me, though her eyes were clouded over with blindness. She didn’t seem altogether there, but even so, how has she gotten up to the roof?

“Ma’am, it isn’t safe up here,” I called. With purposefully audible footsteps, I walked over to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to prevent her from falling. There wasn’t any way to access the roof from the interior of the building, so I would have to try blinking down onto the balcony as I held on to her. Hopefully, she would be transported along with me. At least her blindness and apparent senility would keep my powers hidden.

“Please, come this way.” I ushered her closer to the edge of the roof. “We’ll get you down.”

“Oh, no, no, no, deary. It isn’t safe down there. I heard a man screaming and running for the Overseers. There are witches about. It’s very dangerous to be out right now.”

I made sure my grip on her was firm before I blinked. Sure enough, she was still held in my arm as we landed on the balcony. I led her into my apartment, and gave her a seat on one of the chairs.

“Such a nice, polite young woman, offering dear old Granny a seat. If only there were more people like you. There aren’t many good people these days.”

Getting her off the roof had been easy enough, but now I was at a loss with what to do with her. I couldn’t just let her out on the streets. That would be inhumane. Neither was I a good candidate for taking care of her, seeing as I spent a great deal of time away from the bakery and my mother wasn't here any longer. I would have to find her relatives, if she had any. A daunting task in such a large city.

All the while, my guest was rambling on. “Will they bring the hounds, I wonder? Such nasty beasts. Always crawling into where they don’t belong. So filthy, they ought to be run out of town, one and all.”

I shrugged. “They’re just animals. There’s no reason to hate them for their nature.”

“No, no, deary. Not the hounds. They just do what those rude men in the masks tell them to do. Now, those. Those are the real sneaky ones. Such a shame. I wanted him to smash one of those ugly golden masks to tiny little bits! I would have given him a lovely rune for it too. No. Instead he went and killed the servant, not the master.”

“I see,” I acknowledged her, merely rolling with her bizarre ramblings.

“It isn’t all bad. He found you. The handsome one. He chose well, too. My, my. The first day and already flying about Dunwall. So talented.”

“What?"

“That’s why Granny is giving you a little present. Straight from our dark-eyed friend, just for you. I know you’ll put it to good use.”

With a hand motion, she produced a familiar piece of bone, and its hum lit up the entire room. I glanced back and forth between her and the rune. Suddenly, all her senility melted away to reveal the watchful bird of prey beneath. Her hands were guarded with gloves, but I didn’t need to see them off to tell what lay beneath.  _ There were others. _ How else had she gotten onto the roof without a ladder, and without falling?

Did Jessamine bear a Mark as well? No, I’d seen her hands plenty of times when we were little, and my meeting at the Tower just previously hadn’t indicated that she’d taken up wearing gloves since then. If not the Mark, then where did her powers spring from?

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I’d been forcefully brought into a world I really didn’t understand at all, even as I grew more and more knowledgeable about the natural world around me under Anton’s guidance.

Of course, there were things that not even he knew. Things out beyond the stars that moved irregularly. Toward a point of mysterious gravity. To oblivion. I swallowed. As he said, entropy always increases. Look where it had taken this woman.

“It’s not polite to stare,” said the old woman. “Go, on take it. It’s my present to you.”

“Who are you?”

“You may call me Granny. Come on now.  It’s rude to reject a gift. My frail, old bones can’t carry this all day.”

I gingerly took it. It almost hissed as I did so, and as I laid it down beside me, I almost felt as if there was something within me that had just become slightly more hollow.

“I’m sure a talent like you could put it to good use. I could give you another if you like. All you have to do is bring me a little present in return. I’m certain you know that talented young painter who lives by Kaldwin’s Bridge?”

“Anton Sokolov?” Where precisely was this going?

“That’s the one. Though he mustn't be quite so young any more. My, how time flies. Did you know he once painted a portrait of the Outsider?”

I recalled the time he had told me that he had once briefly seen the Outsider in a dream. Between that brief glimpse and his undoubtedly extensive research into the subject, it was entirely possible that he had made another composite image, like that of Daud.

“He keeps it locked away in a dark cabinet. Doesn’t want anyone to know. But I know, yes I do. Bring it to me, and I’ll give you another lovely hand-carved rune.”

I hadn’t realized just how nervous the woman had made me until that anxiety was replaced with seething anger.

“You want me to  _ steal _ a painting from Anton Sokolov. My teacher and mentor. And turn it over to someone I have just met.”

“That is what I asked, isn’t it? Be a good girl and do dear Granny this favor.”

“No. Of course not! Who do you think I am?”

“Why, a poor, lost little girl who’s had everything taken from her. Her mother. Her home. Maybe even her future,” she cackled. “Come, let your Granny help you get everything you lost back.”

At the high-pitched notes of her laughter, the nervousness came crawling back. There was something more than just syllables to her words. I almost felt them physically pressing down on me. They were trying to steer me into agreeing with her. I had to resist.

“You need to leave now.”

“Oh? Is that how this is going to end?”

“You’re not wanted here anymore, whoever you are. Please, just go.”

“If that’s what you wish, deary. But remember. If you ever have need of that rune, come find me. Bring the painting with you.”

She vanished in an instantaneous burst of soundless light. The old witch did indeed have powers, and could blink just as I could. I sat there alone, both relieved and shaken. So much had happened in the past two days. I didn’t know what to believe. What to think. What to feel. How could that woman had known so much? Was that what the powers of the Void had to offer?

In exchange for one’s sanity.

I attempted to busy myself with mundane household chores in hopes that they would help me forget all the fluctuations of emotions I had felt during the day. By the time the sun was creeping over the horizon, I found myself washing dishes that had already been cleaned. My muscles were still quivering. I was still going to be a mess by the time of Jessamine’s dinner tomorrow at this rate.

Entropy always increases.

This time, nothing kept me from gravitating to the dark thoughts that had been eating away at me all day. I found myself collapsed on the bed in a sobbing fit. Who was I kidding? I couldn't go to Dunwall Tower. My future wasn’t in its bright marble halls, even if I wished otherwise. I was a Marked woman. The songs that rose in a discordant crescendo from the Void were going to take me, twist me, and render me every bit as insane as the witch who had just paid my a visit. Whether I liked it or not, chaos was destined to take me in its iron grip and never let go. One day, I would wake up and find myself alone, unloved, and powerful.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time I awoke the next day, the shadows falling from the open window indicated that it was around eleven o’clock. I shivered from the chill of the room. It seemed I hadn’t shut the window last night after everything that had happened. I realized I hadn’t changed out of my clothes either, and my nose was congested from last night’s tears. I was a mess. This simply wouldn’t do for Jessamine’s dinner.

I pulled myself out of bed. Once I had shut the window and changed out of yesterday’s outfit, I made my way downstairs to get a fire going in the oven. I sat beside it as I pulled apart a day-old loaf of bread for my breakfast. Years of practice had rendered my bread near perfection. I ate the entire loaf thoughtlessly. It's savory familiarity gave me back the strength that I hadn’t realized I was missing until now. When only crumbs remained, I sought to heat up some water for a bath.

Soaking in the warm water gave me more time to think on the past few days. I traced over the sinister lines of the Mark with the index finger of my other hand. It was almost ridiculous how everything in my life had been turned upside down by such a simple marking. What did it mean precisely? Did I really have to live the rest of my life as a heretic, hiding in fear like a frightened, undesirable rat? I certainly couldn't chose the give back the Mark any more than a rat could grow long ears and a cotton tail and call itself a rabbit.

Or perhaps, I was looking at matters from the wrong angle. I had supernatural powers now. I could blink across open spaces and project myself to even more distant locations. Was this really a weakness?

Having spent enough time bathing, I stood and dried myself. The warmth of the water had cleared my head somewhat.

I hadn’t given the Metaphysika Mysterium a second glance since Anton had gifted it to me. There it stood on the shelf, waiting in anticipation. I plucked it up and opened to the first few pages.

It is said that we should not sully our hands when combating the forces of the Void. My studies have been deemed heretical by my brothers, but the rewards have been invaluable. I have harnessed the same energies employed by the Outsider and his accursed followers while avoiding their corruption.

I will prescribe a two-fold method in this text.

Indirection: As the unwholesome powers of the Outsider use living flesh as a conduit, we can avoid being tainted by using the flesh of others instead.

Containment: By using Channels and Barriers we can focus these Void energies in a raw state, shielding them from the perverse perspectives of the Outsider.

Flesh as a conduit? I presumed by that it meant that I was a sort of bridge between the forces of the Void and the physical world by bearing the Mark on my hand. Jessamine as well, most likely, even without the Outsider's Mark. If that short passage alone was any indication, the Outsider was not synonymous with the Void itself, but a separate being within it.

And if being removed from his influence meant avoiding corruption, that meant she at least would not be doomed to madness, like yesterday’s visitor.

I looked forward to tonight. To telling her she was going to be just fine.

On the other side of things, that didn’t bode well for me.

I leafed through the book in search of more information about this corruption. There were pages upon pages of observations and explinations. Whoever this Overseer was had gotten more than enough time to study the subject thoroughly before his brother sough to execute him. I found a section of text that appeared relevant to my search and began reading.

 

In that an agent of the Outsider is able to tap into some of the forces of the Void for his own gain, he makes himself more vulnerable to the influences of the Outsider the more he selfishly uses his heretical. The end result is nearly always madness or mental impotence, though some subjects show significantly greater resistance to the corruptive powers of the Void than others.

The powers they wield not only cause corruption within themselves, but in their environment as well. Excessive amounts of these powers will infect the area in the proximity of their use. Organic matter, such as bones, become corrupted much more quickly than non-organic material, such as stone. Living flesh responds most actively to the forces of the Void.

If an agent of the Outsider spends sufficient time with an uncorrupted individual, his or her powers may infect the victim, who will begin to manifest heretical power in turn. The speed and extent of this corruption varies between individuals. If removed from proximity to the agent of the Outsider for a sufficient period of time, the victim will gradually lose their heretical powers and thankfully return to a normal, healthy individual.

As I read on, it became clear that what the author meant by ‘corruption’ wasn't much more than a failure to heed the Seven Strictures, not the far more terrifying insanity brought on by the unrelenting chaos of the howling Void.

Then again, if he had been studying bearers of the Mark, they could have easily escaped by blinking. More likely they were poor, haunted individuals like Jessamine, who possessed some powers but not nearly to the extent of my own. Is Jessie had been able to blink, I’m certain she would have shown me. It had been only two days, and already I had accomplished things that made her powers look like parlor tricks. So, the Mark made me a stronger ‘conduit’ to the Void, did it?

Loud rapping on the door downstairs echoed through the apartment.

I nearly dropped the book on the floor in surprise. The knocks were loud, and more than a little aggressive. Before heading downstairs, I took a look out the window to see who my visitors were.

My heart skipped a beat. Overseers. Two of them.

“No one's answering. You think they fled?”

“Or they could just be hiding in the back. Smells like someone’s been burning something recently. They’re probably here somewhere.”

“Well, they’re sure not answering. Think we should just knock down the door? Even if they aren’t here, there could still be heretical artifacts about.”

I gazed back to the rune and the Metaphysika Mysterium. I had to hide them, and fast. I quickly gathered them up, blinking to avoid the sound of footsteps. At first, I thought to hide them on the roof, but to do that, I would have to open the balcony doors. They would undoubtedly notice that. Then I considered concealing them in the hollow backs of the stretched canvases that were piled up at the side of the room. No, they would likely search through them.

Loud hammering and a crack from downstairs informed me that I needed to find a solution, and fast.

I looked frantically about the room for a suitable hiding spot. Left, right, up. The whale oil lamp hung from the ceiling. It was saucer-shaped, and just large enough to fit the rune and book.

Best of all, it was too high up for a mundane person to have easy access to.

I blinked up beside it and in the instant before gravity pulled me down, I slipped the rune and the book into its confines. The air in my apartment was still chilly enough to render the whale oil solid. It wouldn’t do to have the pages of the Metaphysika Mysterium coated in the glowing white oil.

I fell to the floor with a thud. It was met by the sound of boots up the stairway. I had barely grabbed a pair of gloves from the dresser and slipped them on before both Overseers emerged in the doorway, angular golden masks glaring harshly at me.

“Don’t move,” said the nearer one from behind the barrel of his gun. “I take it you are the owner of this dwelling and the bakery below.?”

“Yes.”

“Search the premises for heretical contraband,” he gestured to the Overseer behind him, never wavering with the aim of his pistol.

With baited breath, I watched as he went through the apartment systematically. He started with the bed, lifting up the mattress, pulling off the sheets and tossing away the pillow. Then he proceeded to yank open the drawers of the nightstand and dresser. He knocked on the back of each in search of hidden compartments. Finding none, he then crossed over to the pile of canvases and began turning them over to check their back sides. It was a good thing I had thought better of that idea. These were professionals.

I swallowed and chanced a quick look at the whale oil lamp. It swung back and forth slightly from the momentum of stashing my contraband there. An edge of the Metaphysika Mysterium was visible over the rim, and the rune howled beside it. I was a fool. How could the Overseers not notice this? If the movement didn’t tip them off, then surely the rune’s screaming would.

He was now pulling titles from my bookshelf. Mostly, the books just consisted of pastry recipes. They were my mother’s. I’d never had much use for a collection of books of my own. Anton’s library was far better stocked than anything I could hope to acquire. There were a few books about gardening and catalogs of flowers that I had since before I met Anton. Of course, all our small apartment could provide for was a few window boxes laced with flowers. Those very flowers were now being dug up by the Overseer’s unkind, gloved hands, roots torn asunder and tossed aside.

It was obvious where I had hidden them. How could they not hear that incessant rune's song? They were simply playing with me, drawing out my discovery until I was nearly half-dead with terror.

Next, he crossed over to the bathroom. From my vantage point, I saw him pick up the chamber pot and give it a quick examination before placing it down. The gesture was handled almost as if he had a prior experience, I thought with disgust. He disappeared from view for a long minute to inspect the other side of the bathroom.

When he came back into the main room, he would look up, and all this would be over. I waited horridly. He entered. He strode to the center of the room.

“Clear,” he said. “We done here?”

“No. Just because we didn’t find anything doesn’t mean she’s clean. We have to take her to Holger Square for questioning.”

The other groaned. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. I’m missing afternoon tea for this shit.”

“Shut up and do your job.” He turned his sharp-edged mask toward me again. “In front. Move it!”

***

The two Overseers marched me down Clavering Boulevard. They’d bound my hands with a simple rope. That alone probably didn’t prevent me from using my powers, but I was in enough trouble already. I certainly didn’t want to confirm their suspicions. Besides, there were a great many people strolling along the street beside us. Consciously or not, they gave us a wide berth and tried not to look in my direction. I was thankful for the at least partial anonymity.

We passed a fork in the road, heading down the left path. If I wasn’t mistaken, the Golden Cat was in the vicinity. My suspicions were confirmed when I spotted a gentleman and a woman dressed in the unmistakable garb of a courtesan engaged in conversation on the street corner. She had silky black hair an clearly wasn't wearing a corset. I wondered if Breanna knew her. She turned her head slightly to take a look over the Gentleman’s shoulder.

By the Outsider, it  _ was _ Breanna!

I should have recognized he by her locks of raven hair, and the way her lengthy arms draped over her immodest hips. Judging from the slight pause she held before returning to the conversation with her client, it seemed she recognized me as well.

When the Overseer behind me noticed my pace had slowed, he gave me a sharp kick to the back of the leg. I stumbled, before picking up the pace again. Breanna had returned to her conversation, pretending she hadn't seen me, so I did the same as we marched ever onward.

Beyond the gate at the edge of Holger square I was introduced to the stark geometry of the office of the High Overseer. I wasn't the most faithful of people, so I hadn't actually visited it here before. Now that I had, I saw why some who came here spoke of the building with such awe. It was constructed of expertly cut stone, so carefully made that the walls were completely smooth and free of chisel marks. The exterior was laden with floodlights, turned on despite the fact that the sun hung above the horizon. The display would surely be almost blinding at night. No doubt that is precisely what the Overseers had intended.

Inside the building, made up of equal parts brutal minimalism and ostentatia just as the outside, I was ushered up one of the two staircases flanking either side of the lobby. From there, we headed down a red-carpeted hallway until I was pulled aside before two massive doors. They opened them. My destination was a cell.

Across the iron bars was a larger room that met with a sheer wall, and jutted upwards to a raised space above. It was also separated from the main area by a row of thick bars. Behind them, I could see the tops of desks and recording equipment. Above all this hung as sign boasting “ORDER MUST PREVAIL” in large, glaring letters.

And in between me and the raised interrogation platform, in the center of an otherwise spotless chamber was a wicked metal chair facing away from me. Beside it wad a grossly dilapidated  table holding aloft one or two suggestive metal instruments.

I didn’t resist when i was forced to sit on an empty bench waiting at the left side of the room. The Overseer undid by bonds and held an arm aloft to fastened it into the shackle hanging from the wall. He reached out to grab my other arm, but decided I wasn’t dangerous enough to warrant the trouble.

“You’ll wait here until we come for you.”

The doors shut. I was alone.

Save for the blood-splattered, wild-eyed man sitting opposite from me. Constraints held both wrists, and his ankles as well. He sat there looking at me for an indeterminately long time. Lines of careless drool ran out of his open mouth. I tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible, but I still felt him there. Staring at me. An image of madness trying to weasel its way into my mind.

“Why are you singing?” he finally said. His voice was slurred and ugly. “Your mouth doesn’t move, but you sing all the same.”

I remained silent. I was determined not to speak with him.

“Wait. Wait. I know that song! You sound like  _ them _ . You do! They speak to you! Speak through you! Oh, why won’t they speak to me? They scream and scream and call out to me in my dreams, but they don’t  _ sing _ like you do. You bitch! What have you done to have them sing to you? What is the secret? Tell me! I’ve tried everything, but still it  _ screams _ and never speaks!  You must hear an orchestra! All I hear is a cacophany! Why do they speak to you, but not to me? Tell me! I am promised secrets but I am never given  _ answers _ ! But I was getting closer, I was. Then they came and  _ took _ it from me! Thievers! Robbers! When I get free from these chains I’m going to take it back from them! And then  _ you _ are going to show me how it works! Yes, you will! You will! You will! Then it will sing for me too! Just like it sings for you! Just like you sing!"

His voice had slowly grown even louder until he was outright screaming. I still refused to look upon him.

"Teach me to sing! Yes, to sing! To sing! To sing!" Suddenly the tone of his voice changed, becoming darker and malicious. "Wait. No, no, no. Then you’ll just take it! Take it all for yourself and fly away with it! We can’t have that! No! I won’t let you have it! It is MINE! I will kill you, you thieving bitch!”

The chains rattled dangerously as he writhed, many times more bestial than Anton’s starving wolf hound. But, like the wolfhound, his constraints held him tight.

“Bitch! Bitch! I’ll open you stomach and pull out your entrails until you stop singing that pretty song, but scream just as I do. I’ll drown you in a pot of boiling water! It is mine! How dare you try and take it!”

His rambling went on for some time more, beating down on me, though I tried my best to ignore them. I wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved when the Overseers finally returned. I was unhinged from the shackles and brought through the door in the bars that separated the cell from the interrogation chamber. I was led to that ghastly chair. As I was brought around, I could saw stains of reddish brown smeared on the ground in front of the chair. While I gazed, imagination filling in the horrid details, I was shoved into the chair. Constraints clamped down on my wrists. At least my gloves remained. Until in one fell motion my captor reached down and removed my right glove.

My heart pounded.

He reached for the other.

He grasped the material at the tip of the middle finger. No! He must not see it! I tried to contain my panic as the leather began to peel away in slow motion against my rapid heartbeats. My teeth found the inside of my lips. I sat helplessly watching, willing the Mark not to be seen with all my might, but he kept pulling and pulling and the leather stretched ever closer to giving way until it finally came off all at once -- and revealed nothing but pale, clear flesh beneath.

“She looks pale of the sudden,” commented one of the Overseers.

I took a second glance at the back of my hand. It was chalk white. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was deathly ill. My gaze wandered to the other hand. It had grown wan as well.

“Probably scared witless. Only goes to show she has something to hide,” said the other Overseer as he exited through a door on the right.

He reappeared in the upper part of the interrogation room a minute later. No doubt the high vantage point gave him a sense of superiority. Was ridiculous posturing like this the sort of thing these petty men had to do to make themselves feel powerful?

I heard the click and whine of an audiograph record turning on.

“Subject is female, aged late twenties. Accused of witchcraft when caught mysteriously appearing and disappearing on the front step of her domicile. Short black hair, neat clothes. No outward signs of madness or heresy.”

The recorder clicked off. Was that procedure? My interrogator leaned into the microphone. His voice boomed far too loudly from the speakers. The booming volume was probably intentional.

“This will all be over very quickly, if you cooperate. You live above the bakery located at 43 Teil Street, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Yesterday afternoon, you were witnessed appearing out of thin air on the stoop of said bakery.”

“I simply opened the door and stepped out. The man, your witness, was screaming something about witchcraft. I have no idea why. Then he threw a brick at me! He's clearly a hooligan. I don't know why you would listen to him.”

“Don’t believe her! She’s a witch! Burn her! Boil her! Can’t you hear it? Shut up her awful song!” cried the madman from behind me.

“He also claimed that upon hitting you with the brick, you vanished.”

“I ducked back inside to avoid being hurt, of course.”

“Witch! Witch! Witch! She’s lying! Witch!”

Why hadn’t the madman been silenced yet? His constant yammering was not helping me argue my case. He was mad, but if he yapped enough, the Overseers might decided there was a grain of truth to his words. If this kept up, I wouldn’t be able to convince them of my innocence. There was still had a chance of escape, if need be. All I had to do was tire them enough to take a break. I could probably blink out of the chair and across the hall to one of the open windows given the chance. That was plan B, of course. It would mean I would have to flee Dunwall most likely, and I certainly could have that. So, I steeled myself for a long rehearsal of the details of yesterday’s events.

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“Excuse me?”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“I don’t--”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“One? I think?”

“You think? Either he has one head or he doesn’t.”

“How should I know what he looks like?”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“I just told you, I don’t--”

“How many fingers am I holding I up?”

“I can’t see from--”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“I--”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

Silence.

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

Again, silence.

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“One! One! She said one! See, she really is a witch and needs to be burnt into little bitty bits!” cried the madman.

The inquisitor ignored him.

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“One!”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“Burn her!”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

“How many heads does the Outsider have?”

It was clear this was going to continue all day. He was completely stoic, and well practiced. I’d be driven mad before he would even bat an eyelash.

“One. He has one. Please, if that will make you happy…”

The audio recorder clicked on. “Subject has admitted to having born witness to the Outsider.”

It clicked off again.

“There is no possible way you could know what the Outsider looks like without having witnessed him. Tell me, what vile ritual did you enact to summon him? What happened to the victim you murdered? Where is their body? We must know so we can return the deceased to his family. They miss him very much.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t murder anyone. There is no body.”

He turned as if to turn the recorder on again. I might have missed it, but I didn’t catch the signature click this time.

“Subject is mentally unstable enough to repress murder and disposal of victim’s body. Will continue interrogation in hopes of discovering location of his remains.”

He gestured to turn off the audiograph again. There was definitely no click this time. Doubtlessly, most people wouldn’t have heard it. This man was not only self-disciplined but deviously clever as well.

Meaning I had likely only seen through one of his tricks. I was in deep trouble.

“What was the location of the ritual? Your bakery? Or did you break the fifth stricture, Roving Feet, and commit the foul act on another’s property?”

“I didn’t break the fifth stricture. I didn't commit any sort of act on anyone’s property.”

It clicked. “Subject has demonstrated unfamiliarity with the seven strictures, likely due to heretical corruption of the mind.”

Deep, deep trouble.

From somewhere behind the interrogator's platform, I heard a door open and heavy footsteps drawing nearer. A man distinguished from the other Overseers by a red uniform emerged. I could only guess that he was the High Overseer.

“That’s enough, Martin. I’ll take it from here.”

My interrogator, Martin apparently, obeyed only sluggishly. Once he had given the High Overseer room, he stood against the back wall, arms crossed petulantly.

“Now, let’s go over your story from the top.”

I stared at him for a moment. What was he after?

“Don’t be afraid.”

“I was taking a rest day in my apartment above the bakery. In the afternoon, I went out to get some ingredients for dinner from the local grocer. So, I want downstairs and stepped out the door. There was a man outside. He looked at me and started screaming something about witchcraft. He even threw a brick at my head, but I got out of the way in time, fortunately. I locked the bakery door and had leftover bread for dinner instead. That’s all that happened. Honestly.”

“That sounds reasonable to me. Don’t you agree, men? I’m sure this is all a huge misunderstanding. You’re free to go.”

I could almost see Martin balk from behind his mask. “Sir, I do not believe she is telling the truth. The man who reported to have witnessed her is known as an honest, upstanding individual in his community. If I may--”

“Martin, I’ve heard enough from you for one day. And why haven’t you had that madman executed yet? We determined he was a heretic two weeks ago.”

“I thought he could be a useful asset.”

“Absolutely not. Schedule him for execution immediately. You down there. Unlock this poor woman and show her out already.”

***

I encountered Breanna lurking on the outskirts of the Overseer’s nest. She almost seemed to hum as she stepped out from the confines of a shadow. A dark woolen coat was wrapped about her body and fastened with a row of buttons in the front to guard against the evening chill. It’s bulk emphasized rather than concealed her curves.

“Thank the stars that worked!”

“What worked?”

“I convinced the High Overseer to let you go, of course.”

“Really? How?”

“Campbell is notoriously corrupt. He might not always look it, but he gained his position through blackmail and extortion alone. You wouldn’t believe the secrets he keeps. He doesn’t care a bit about the Seven Strictures. In fact, he has told me that he finds it amusing to break every single one of them at least once each day." She glanced down. "But Wanton Flesh is by far his favorite.”

“So you…”

“I offered him something… special free of charge. No need to talk about that, however. You got out of there in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

“Why do this for me? Why go through the trouble for someone you’ve only met once?”

“Once was more than enough. I meet plenty of sad, lonely people in my line of work. I feel  sorry for them, but I wouldn’t exactly call any of them good people. The good ones don’t come to a brothel, you understand.” She paused. “Listen, I’ve seen the Overseers marching many a suspected heretic by here. Most don’t return. I didn’t think you deserved that fate.”

“How would you know? What if I really were a heretic?”

“Then, I’d be just as guilty as you.”

She reached into a pocket and pulled out a little object made of mish-mashed bones. As she raised it, the humming became unmuffled. So that was its source. It sounded similar, but distinct from that of a rune.

“Half the Cat uses these. The woman who sold us them claimed they would prevent pregnancy, and they really do work.”

“You’re using heretical artifacts only a few streets away from the Overseers’ center of power in Dunwall.”

“It’s not as if they are permitted to visit the Cat. Besides, we hide them, of course.”

“They don’t hear them when they pass you in the street?”

Breanna gave me a shocked look “You can hear them too? The other girls all think I’m crazy. Still, even if some of them could hear it, they’re not much louder than a pocket watch ticking. They’ll be easily missed on the bustle of the street.”

The hum of the charms was quite a bit louder than that for me. I suppose that was one of the side effects of being Marked. It recalled the time on the shores of the Wrenhaven when Jessamine claimed to have heard that rune singing. I didn’t know what she meant back then. Now I did.

She slipped the charm back in her pocket. “I believe I can trust you not to say anything? You’ve seen what can happen.”

“My lips are sealed.”

She sighed. “Truth be told, one of our clients did catch sight of one of these bone charms. That’s how I learned that those of us who aren’t careful are dispensable.”

“Breanna, why are you so open with me?”

“You don’t think I get just as lonely as some of my clients?”

“There are the other courtesans.”

“Who think I’m an odd bird. Most of them didn’t choose to become courtesans.”

“That’s…”

“You feel sorry for them? Then do them a favor and don’t squander the choices you have in life. By the Outsider, do me that favor as well. Choosing to come to the Golden Cat was easy. Leaving, not so much.”

“Is that why you don’t get along with the other courtesans? Because you had a choice?”

“Clever and observant.”

Breanna let out a pent-up breath. “I better meet up with Campbell before he misses me.”

“You really didn’t have to do this for me.”

“Enough with that already. I made a decision, and you’re alive because of it. That’s good enough for me.”

She began to stride off toward Holger Square. “One more thing!” I called after her. “If you see Sokolov again, please don’t tell him of any of this.”

Breanna nodded and continued on her way. The length of the coat emphasized her elegant hip movements.

I gazed up into the dark sky above. A couple stars peered through breaks in the cloud cover. With a jolt, I realized that Jessamine’s dinner had likely come and went, and there was an empty seat gathering dust and disappointment waiting on the other side of the city.


	7. Chapter 7

Anton accosted me just about as soon as I had passed through the door.

“Delilah! There you are. What happened? Where were you last night?”

“I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Really? You look fine to me.”

“It was just a slight cough, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I could have gotten the Jessamine or Emily sick. When I woke up this morning, it was gone. Probably just the wind. It was blowing the smoke from my neighbor’s chimney my direction all day.”

“That’s unfortunate. I think you should have come, even if you were feeling a under the weather. She missed you, you know. She tried not to show it, but it was quite clear to me that she was very unhappy you weren’t present.”

That simply added another layer of guilt in on top of my lying.

“I’m sorry.” It didn’t make up for my shame.  But I had no other choice, did I?

“The Empress is a busy woman,” drawled Anton. “She will have her hands full in the next several months, but I’m sure we can find another time for a meeting. Of course, a couple months is nothing compared to the years that you two have been apart.”

It seemed that Jessamine hadn’t mentioned my visit the day before to him. It was just as well. Another thought had occurred to me. I was a good thing that I hadn’t attended the dinner. Not because I didn’t want to meet Jessamine again, but because somebody who is forced to lie to her oldest friends has no place sitting alongside them.

What was I even doing here?

I had long ago ceased to need lessons in painting from Anton. Between his various non-artistic duties, he had much less time to practice than I did. By this point, I was certainly his equal in skill, if not a little better. Hence  why he had begun teaching me sculpture recently. There was little to be learned on the canvas.

Today, I didn’t feel particularly like sculpting, so I simply asked for a blank canvas and set to work on it. Anton busied himself with a painting of his own. It was another one of his trademark portraits, of a man I didn’t recognize. When I asked him about it, he answered that it was a less influential member of Parliament who had set aside enough enough money to afford a Sokolov painting of his very own. Anton was preparing to varnish it.

Meanwhile, I found myself painting without any direction. What was coming out on the canvas was not my typical work, from which it was obvious who my teacher had been. I laid down raw, bright colors from the palette. My brush pushed and mixed them into one another, forming a wide array of new shades a hues right there on the canvas. I stepped back in order to ask myself what exactly I was painting.

Mysterious and chaotic, exactly like the Void.

Receiving the Mark of the Outsider had redefined me. There was no denying that fact.

“What are you painting there? That’s… interesting.”

“It’s an experiment.”

He rubbed his chin through the tangled mass of black that hung there, but turned back to his own work without saying anything more.

***

My gallery showing had been arranged for a month’s time from now. A line of canvases rested against the wall in their rainbow-coded audacity. At first, I had developed the style to be as offensive as possible to the drab, realist sensibilities of the high art community. Now, I realized, the style was all my own. Unique and unmistakable, the paintings reflected who I was. I bore the Mark. I had seen the Void. What was rendered on canvas by my hand was lifted from a realm of dreams, where the Void wrapped around recognizable objects, lending a little of its glow about the distorted edges of the objects. Some floated in space, some on half-made backdrops, representations of the fragmented islands in the Void.

I hoped it would work.

“I must admit, this is the first time my services have been requested by a woman,” said Breanna as she entered the room and took the chair opposite me. “It’s been awhile. Good to see you again, Delilah.”

“You as well. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please." I ducked into the kitchen to fetch the tea set. "I see you’ve been painting quite a bit. That’s rather an unusual choice of colors, isn’t it?”

“It’s my own personal style,” I called from the kitchen as I was in the midst of removing the cups and saucers from the cupboard. “I had to invent a few new pigments to get some of the brighter colors I desired. Believe me, some of the ingredients were not cheap.”

I set the table and poured each of us a cup. It was still steaming, but not hot enough to burn. Breanna took a sip immediately, even as I went back to the kitchen fetch cream and sugar.

“You must be really dedicated to your craft.”

“Yes, I certainly am.” I sighed. “Breanna, you’ve said that men get lonely before, and sometimes seek out solace at the Cat for emotional support and not mere carnal pleasure, correct?”

“Some of them do, yes, from time to time.”

“That’s why I asked you here," I said, sitting down across from her. "I think I’m about to something awful. And it’s going to leave me completely alone. But I don’t have any other choice.”

“What do you mean?”

I retracted the pallor around my left hand, and showed her the Mark.

“So you got a tattoo? Why does that matter? True, it’s very unladylike, and I’m more than a bit surprised you of all people would be the one woman to go for it. But I don’t see what you’re so worried about. You’re old enough to do what you want with your body.”

“It’s not a tattoo. It’s the Mark of the Outsider.”

Her eyes widened.

“Two nights before the day I was taken away by the Overseers, Sokolov performed a ritual at a shrine to the Outsider. I was there, watching. He had convinced me to join him in uncovering the secrets of the Void. For the good of mankind, he said. But the ritual was horrible. Gruesome. At the end of it, I must have entered some sort of trance. I was in the Void. I… met the Outsider. He gave me his Mark, and with it, the ability to use magic.”

The teacup rested in her dainty lap. She hadn’t taken a sip in  a while.

“He was almost human in appearance. I know that’s just a facade, that he’s primal chaos given consciousness, but his lack of monstrosity was striking. He knew things. Who I was, what my life was like up to that point. He said I was interesting, and that is why he gave me the Mark. When I woke up,it was there on my hand, and I felt extremely dizzy. I got sick, and I think that’s the reason why Sokolov hasn’t said anything more about helping him with his research since then.”

Breanna remained silent for quite some time. Then, she took up the teacup and downed another sip. “I’ve heard many, many secrets in my years working at the Golden Cat. What you just told me isn’t the most disturbing, or even the most fantastical, but it is, without a doubt, the deepest and darkest. The Outsider? Magic? Truly?”

“I couldn’t make it up. I was learning how to use it when I accidentally let myself be spotted. The witness reported to the Overseers, and they came for me the next day. That’s what you saved me from.”

“You? A witch?” she said again in disbelief.

“It sounds mad, but it’s true.”

I set my tea on the table and rose. To prove my claims, I blinked to her side. Her head turned in sharp surprise as I reappeared.

“I can cross open spaces just by thinking of it. That’s not all.” I displayed my projection, and she glanced between me and my copy. I released it, and brought up a different sort of energy, one I had just recently mastered.

My skin thickened to the consistency of tree bark as green discoloration spread over me, taking the place of the pallor. After a moment, I released that too. My skin faded back to white.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“You said before that you would be just as much a heretic in the eyes of the Overseers as I am because of those bone charms you use. That makes you one of the only two people who can I can tell the true extent of my problems to. I’m a heretic now. I didn’t chose to be, but I am. This means I can’t go on living the life I’ve been living, whether I like it or not. I can’t remain Sokolov’s apprentice. He’s too prestigious. If I do, I’ll be discovered and executed for sure. There’s no doubt that the Abbey won't let me escape a second time. I have to leave Dunwall. There is no other choice. That’s part of why I asked you here. I need someone who can understand and tell me that everything is going to be alright. I don’t want to turn into a lonely witch going silently mad!”

Breanna contemplated what to say to that. She remained silent for far longer than I would have liked. “I suppose your life will never really be the same, but please don’t isolate yourself. I’m sure you have people who care about you, like your mother--”

“She’s dead. Not long before receiving the Mark, in fact.”

“Oh. My condolences. I didn’t know. I’m sure she was a lovely lady.”

“She was.”

The next few minutes we spent sipping tea in unison under the mutual gravity that pressed down on us throughout the room.

“My other reason for bringing you here is because I think that I may be able to help  _ you _ . You said that your life at the Cat wasn’t really what you wanted? That you would leave if you could?”

She nodded.

“I think I might just have a way to give that to you. I’ve been reading about this, and it may very well be possible to share my powers with you. I would like to see if that’s really true. If you’re willing, of course.”

She leaned forward, voice but an intense whisper of passionate, desperate desires. “I may be a heretic already, and if I could get away from the Cat and all the subordination I suffer there, I would gladly delve deeper into that dark ocean in an instant.”

Her gaze lingered on me, fierce, and without relent.

I smiled.

“You can already hear the runes singing. You're probably sensitive to the Void. I bet by the end of the day, I can teach you to use at least one of my powers.”

“If this is for real,” she breathed. I wondered if she was about to cry from the glistening in her eyes. “I can choose a new life."

“There is one other detail. The powers comes from your proximity to me, both mental and physical, I think. If you’re going to want to retain those powers, you’ll have to go with me when I leave Dunwall.”

“And if I don’t agree with that, and decide to go my own way?”

“Then you’d lose your powers, I assume.”

She took a long sip of her tea. “That’s still far more freedom than I’ll ever have had at the Golden Cat. Very well. You have a deal.”

***

The gallery opening was a complete disaster, just as I’d hoped. Animals with bright blue and green fur danced about in one painting until they fell from exhaustion. Each was made up of ever so slightly mismatched features and proportions. The landscape beneath their prancing feet lessened in detail as it stretched back toward the horizon, where they blended rather than bordered one another. Beside this painting, a dumpster overflowing with technicolor rubbish rested in a quaint wooden parlor as three aristocrats obliviously sipped tea beside it. On closer inspection, none of the chairs in which that sat quite rested on the floor, nor did they cast shadows. Through the windows in the back were blots of unrefined green that suggested sideways-facing trees. Beyond that was just blank nothing. I hadn't even bothered to put paint on the canvas there. On the opposite wall, a mostly naked sailor languished against the bulwark of a whaling ship. Swathes of unexplained color ran across his body and the hull of the ship. Some emphasized the color scheme of the painting, others deliberately defied it. All the shades a hues eventually swirled together in the distance, forming an abyss of color. Just like gazing into the Void.

I watched as several of the stuffier aristocrats dropped poorly hidden sneers at me for offending their tastes. I replied to each one with as pleasant a smile as I could muster. How embarrassing this whole thing must be for Anton Sokolov, to see one of his finest pupils to fill her work with so much dementia.

Another aristocrat was know approaching me from the right. I prepared myself for his disapproval. “You have a very keen eye,” he said to my utter shock.

I reigned in the surprise to take a closer look at the man. He was an aging, bearing himself with an arrogant dignity and air of superiority that I had seen on plenty of aristocrats before, but rarely quite so completely. His face was thin and somewhat wrinkled and his cheeks were sunken. I believed I had seen him before, but I couldn’t recall him by name.

“Pleased to meet you, my dear. I am Barrister Arnold Timsh,” he said, sparing me the trouble. “You are miss Delilah Copperspoon, I presume?”

“Yes, that would be me.” We shook hands. His grip was gentle, unusual for the upper class of Dunwall, who were known to scope out the pecking order at even the very first meeting.

“What is it about my work that garners your attention?” I ventured.

“Their supple form, elegant contours, and most of all, their sheer, unabashed daring,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Even the one with the dumpster?”

He laughed, a squeaking, unpleasant laugh. “Especially that one. You are a very skilled artist indeed. It’s a shame that others here can’t appreciate your true genius.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No need to be so formal. If I might be so bold as to offer a business proposition, perhaps I might commission you to paint my portrait. In your own style, as you like, of course. I will reward you handsomely for the favor.”

“That…” I wondered how to turn him and his no doubt inflated ego down. I had no plans of remaining in Dunwall any longer than I had to.

Fortunately, Anton appeared to shoo him away.

“Barrister Timsh, if I might have a word with my apprentice in private, please.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, but ultimately decided not to make anything more of it and wandered off to the paintings at the other side of the room.

Anton led me to a far corner of the gallery that was free of gossiping aristocratic ears.

“Don’t listen to that man, Timsh. He’s an unprincipled worm. Make no mistake, your paintings are not what he’s interested in,” he said.

I braced myself for what I was sure was about to come next. Tackling Anton head-on was sure to be the most difficult part of the evening. I wasn’t certain how he would take seeing one of his favorite apprentices throw everything he’s taught her right back in his face.

But it was something that must be done.

“Well? You haven’t said anything about the paintings yet.”

He gazed around the room, taking them in for a moment while he searched for the right words to say. “They’re all very unique. I see you made a break from the basics of what I taught you. Many of the backgrounds and figures are not in proper perspective. Moreover, the anatomy of many of the creatures is clearly incorrect. Physically impossible in several place. Your subjects are unorthodox to say the least, and I caught several times where you had simply neglected to paint parts of the canvas. Yet, there was a clear effort made here… It’s brilliant, Delilah.”

“What?”

“I am a Natural philosopher first and an artist second. I paint to support my private research. That means I often take on work I don’t enjoy from well-paying patrons who have a particular set of expectations. They want my work to be realistic, yet just stylized enough to make it clear just whom they could afford to hire. Sometimes, I dream of painting what I wish, but I know the opportunity to do so is a rare one. I must not let my reputation falter, otherwise I will risk alienating a very important source of funding. You, on the other hand, are an artist and nothing more. You have nothing other than your own mouth to feed, and that gives you the freedom to do with your talents as you wish. You’ve gone far beyond just being a mere apprentice. With this gallery opening, I see you’ve developed your own style, regardless of who your tutor was. You aren’t afraid to show it to the public, even if it offends their sense of taste. Keep refining your style and you could make a famous artist one day. It might take some time to win over Dunwall’s affections, but I see great potential in you.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes. Your work is refreshing and new, but still clearly the work of an extremely talented painter. The subjects too, are evocative of a realm beyond our own. They dare the viewer to grasp at the mystery hidden behind them, while never truly revealing its hidden nature. And the colors! I must ask you how you were able to find such vibrant pigments!”

“I mixed them up myself to achieve the effect I wanted. The blues are crushed Lazurite with a touch of zinc powder to prevent them from decaying into Malagite… I… didn’t think you would like it. I thought you would hate it. I thought you would be ashamed of me.”

Anton looked shocked and confused. Normally his expression were restrained to contemplation or scowling, so seeing these emotions come out was somewhat a shock to me as well.

“Why would I ever be ashamed of you, child?”

None of this was going as I planned. It would just make my eminent flight from Dunwall all the harder to bear.

Even more so when Jessamine Kaldwin entered the room with the Lord Protector close behind.

“Ah, Your Majesty,” Sokolov wandered away to greet her. “Glad to see you could make it.”

“I’m sorry I’m late. There was some last-minute business that had to be taken care of back at the Tower.”

I crossed over to join them, steeling my face as I did so.

“Delilah. It’s so good to see you again. I missed you at the dinner, and I was concerned you’d run off.”

“No. I’m sorry. I was just… busy,” I tried to enunciate clearly through my shock.

“Since it seemed that you two hadn’t made arrangements to meet again, I took the liberty of inviting the Empress here.”

“Are these your new paintings?” she asked. “I must say, I’ve never seen anything quite like them. You have fascinating vision.”

Corvo was eyeing the paintings as if he was trying to decide if they would attack or not. Jessamine’s expression was harder to discern through her mask of make-up. I hoped my face didn’t betray the sinking feeling in my heart.

“I take it Emily is already asleep in bed right now?” I said, trying to make light.

“Most likely not,” Jessamine laughed. “She can be hard to control, but I’m sure the maids I left her with are doing the best they can.”

“Anything like us when we were children? I, for one, remember going to bed when I was asked.”

“Not so for me. I remember causing trouble for my elders.”

“She takes after her mother, then?”

“In some respects. She draws whenever she gets the opportunity, like you did. If these paintings are any indication, she could grow up to become a talented artist, just as you have.”

“And I’m sure her childhood will go better than mine, with you two there to care for her.”

Jessamine’s expression soured. “I would like to talk to you again. In private. Some things have been on my mind since we last met.”

She turned to Corvo, who was surveying the gallery in search of potential threats. “Corvo, if you’d give us just a moment…”

Their gaze lingered on one another as he backed away only slowly. Their hands parted, and I realized that I hadn’t be certain when they had started holding them. Corvo watched steadily as we made our way to the women’s washroom, determined to do his job as well he could despite his beloved’s request.

The washroom was deserted on account that the majority of the visitors to the show were men. Once inside, Jessamine turned to face me, pain clearly showing from under her hefty eyeshadow.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“For what?”

“You have them too now, don’t you? The powers. The nightmares.”

“Powers, yes, but I haven’t had any nightmares.”

“It was just the powers for me too, at first, but then the nightmares followed after you were exiled from the Tower. I experience them nearly every night now. They make me dread sleep. Corvo and Emily are the only ones who can keep them from coming, but I’m the Empress, and I have to sleep in my chambers alone. They’re not always there to ease the pain. And if they knew, I shudder to think what would happen.”

I thought of her, that passionate kiss I had witnessed between them, and the happy family that the three of them secretly formed together. I would have killed to have a family like that, and I didn’t want to see Jessamine destroy such a happy unison with her silent misery.

“You really love them, don’t you?”

“With all my heart.”

“Then tell them.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? They both love you. I’m certain they would understand. You didn’t choose to have your powers. Let them help ease some of the burden.”

“No. My curse brings nothing but pain and suffering. You know that better than any one. I can’t tell them. I can’t let them suffer because of me. I couldn’t bear to see it! I love them too much.”

Jessie looked about to cry, despite her magnificent composure. I could only imagine the heavy make-up being washed away with her tears, revealing the half broken woman beneath.

I tensed my nerves and prepared to regulate my voice into a strong, confident tone.

“Please, please don’t isolate yourself. There are people who care about you, and who don’t want to see you suffering all alone like this.”

I couldn’t save myself, but at least I could try to save Jessie.

***

“Breanna, is everything packed?”

“Yes.”

“Including the rune and the Metaphysika Mysterium?”

“In your trunk.”

“Good, because we’re leaving for Serkonos today.”

I grabbed my trunk, and hauled it through the doorway.

There weren’t stairs on the other side as there should have been, but an ornate bedroom.

Jessamine Kaldwin lay sprawled on the bed, red rushing down from an ugly hole in her chest. Someone had crudely pulled out her heart and left her there to rot.

I looked down. I was holding the knife instead of my trunk.

The ceiling of our hotel room in Cullero stared back at me through the muggy Serkonan heat.

“Bad dream?” Breanna asked sleepily from beside me.


	8. Chapter 8

Breanna was wrapped in her new wool coat to guard against the cold drifting over the northern waters. It was her third, if I was counting correctly. What she needed with so many articles of clothing was beyond me. Much less how she could fit them all into her luggage, but she did. Thanks to my skill with a brush, we often had money left over after lodging and food were taken care of, and shopping seemed to make her happy, so I watched her shop to her heart's content. Besides, she look equal parts warm and gorgeous in that stately brown wool.

I smiled subtly as her gaze rested on me for a second. Then she returned to gazing over the wide, open sea, and I turned my nose down back into the Metaphysika Mysterium. The section I was in the midst of reading catalogued different powers reported to have been utilized by heretics.

By far the most common power seen among agents of the Outsider is ability to vanish from one location and instantaneously reappear in another. While the appearance of this power varies between individuals, the vast majority of those possessing heretical powers are able to perform it, making capture and containment difficult.

Naturally, this has been the largest obstacle to my research. Fortunately, while the potential mobility allowed through use of this power is great, it is not unlimited, and we have learned to exploit its weaknesses in order to properly restrain agents of the Outsider.  Most notably, these agents are unable to pass through solid objects, even if they are able to see through them, such as windows. Additionally, they are incapable of reaching a space that they cannot see, even if they would be physically able to reach it without the use of their powers.

Second most common among the powers agents of the Outsider possess is the apparent ability to see in the dark. The extent of this power is difficult to determine, as we ourselves cannot see through the eyes of another. As the mind of a heretic must be brimming with the foul influences of the Outsider, it would be ill-advised to do so even if we could. The fact remains that certain heretics are able to pass through an unlit room just as easily as it had been flooded with light.

I felt a slight twinge of jealousy when I read about the second listed power. I had experimented with my powers thoroughly, but never come across any ability even close to this, despite how common the book claimed it was. Why hadn’t I been given access to that power? If other heretics like me had access something that so standard, then why didn’t I? Did I not deserve it? I sighed, and continued reading.

Frighteningly, it appears that some agents of the Outsider are capable of doing precisely that. At will, they may free themselves from their bodies and possess that of another. While in possession of the host, the heretic has full control of the victim's body. It seems that the power is for the most part limited to animals of little mental capacity, such as rodents, songbirds, and fish. Less common, but still notable is the ability to possess larger animals such as hounds and cats.

Those truly frightening in their powers can even possess other human beings. Victims of this violation have reported no memory of the possession, and find themselves suddenly in a different location once the possession ends. Victims have consistently claimed that they felt disoriented and sometimes vomited immediately after the incident.

Though the implications of this particular power are frightening, we may rest assured that the duration of possession is limited, especially when the victim is human. Permanent possession of another’s body is suspected to be impossible.

I shivered. The thought was like something out of a campfire story or one of those horror novels That were all the rage. On the other hand, the natural philosopher in me was left curious. What would it be like to take hold of someone other than myself? To walk in the shoes of someone who had been granted vastly better fortune than myself? Alas, it was a fantasy. I possessed no such power, and even if I did, it would be only for a few precious moments.

Breanna came around to where I was leaning against the bulwarks. “Come to the bow. You can see the lights of Yaro from there. We’ll be landing soon, I'm sure.”

***

“This tea is far too strong and they didn’t even provide any cream or sugar to go with it,” I complained.

She laughed. “We’ve been traveling for how long and you’re still getting upset when people in the other Isles don’t do things the way you're used to?”

“It's tea. When I’m offered a cup, I expect it to remind me of home.”

“You could always add hot water,” Breanna pointed to the pot at the center of them table. “Or put some of the honey in it, if you want it to be sweet.”

At her suggestion, I poured a portion of the hot water to thin out the taste, and mixed in a spoonful of honey.

“Let me tell you a secret,” Breanna said joyfully. “I never liked putting cream in my tea, even if that’s what you’re supposed to do. It doesn’t match the natural flavor of the leaves.”

“You have good taste, for someone from Gristol,” said a man in his distinct Tyvian accent.

We looked up from the table to see the speaker. He was dressed in an exquisite blue silk shirt and sported well preened, ash-blonde hair. The intruding local pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table without asking permission.

“What brings you two so far north? Few foreigners come this way.”

“We’re traveling the Isles. It would sure be missing out on an adventure if we didn’t come to Yaro,” Breanna answered.

“Just the two of you? Alone?”

“Yes,” I answered forcefully.

“You do not worry about danger? The world can be a hard place.”

“We have ways of defending ourselves.”

He raised a jesting eyebrow. “Is that so? Anyway, I must introduce myself. My name is Fyodor Kirov."

He extended his right arm. Breanna was notably closer to his outstretched hand.

“Breanna Thatcher,” she said, taking it.

“Satcher? Datcher? How do you say it?”

“Thatcher.”

“Sha-- Za-- I cannot.”

“Give it time. You’ll figure it out.”

“We will see. And you are?” he asked as he turned toward me.

“Delilah Copperspoon.”

We shook hands ceremoniously.

“Spoon? Is that not what you use to eat soup?”

“Yes. It is.”

“What an odd name. Miss Spoon.”

“Copperspoon. It’s my name, not a utensil.”

“I think your friend has chosen not to like me,” he told Breanna.

“No, no. It’s just that you sat down at our table without asking even though we don’t know you. It would be very improper back in Gristol. Delilah here is quite the incurable gentlewoman.”

“A gentlewoman, you say? She wears her hair short like a man.”

“I like it this way. In Gristol that comment would also be seen as tactless.”

“Better to be insulted to one’s face than to find that rumors have been spread behind your back,” he countered. “Tyvia may be cold, but that is what brings us together and makes our bonds strong. Do you not agree? It is lonely not to have a full table for dinner.”

“I, for one, appreciate the company of a local,” said Breanna. “So, is Yaro your hometown?”

“Born and raised. And you two? Where in Gristol are you from?”

“Dunwall. Well, Delilah is at least. I was born in a small hamlet in southern Gristol, but I’d been living in the city for years before we set out on this journey together.”

“I visited it last year. My family had a meeting with business partners there. It was enormous and so full of wonders, but no one there was happy.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

“The people in Dunwall always want more. They are always in a hurry to do something else. You never sit down like this and enjoy life.”

“Stop and smell the roses, we say in Gristolian,” Breanna supplied.

“There are not many roses in Dunwall either. It is all brick and pavement. The people of Dunwall do not know beauty because they always move so fast. We Tyvians are not like them. We know how to enjoy life. Like food. When was the last time you had good food in Gristol? It is all potted whale meat and salted fish down there. Quick, cheap, but disgusting. In Tyvia, we take pride in our food. We make it with love. Tyvian food warms the heart. Let me help you read the menu.”

Fyodor convinced us to start with a soup of cabbage and other vegetables. His original suggestion had been some sort of cold dish, but we both rejected that notion immediately.

“Have you been anywhere else in the Isles besides Dunwall?” Breanna asked between spoonfuls.

“Of course. I have been to many cities in Tyvia, Gristol, and Morley. Not to Serkonos. It is too far, and too warm. My father has gone many times. He is the owner of the ore mines in the hills, so he must go. I will have to go too, some day, when I inherit the mines. I hope that day is long off. For now, I am content here.”

“Cullero was our first stop after leaving Dunwall. Delilah certainly had more trouble with the weather than me. Since then, we’ve been sailing from port to port. She’s a talented painter. Her portraits and landscapes have provided more than enough money to support ourselves. Sometimes, I sing or dance for a little extra coin, but it’s not that much.”

“I doubt that. Your body looks like it was made for dancing.”

I looked away from the pair of them and focused on my soup. I wasn’t certain of every ingredient in it. Chunks of a root I couldn’t identify swam next to strips of something long and vaguely slimy. The cook had obviously know what they were doing, however, so I filled my mouth with it. I uncovered the bottom of the bowl much faster than the other two.

“I would like to pay you to paint my portrait. Do you agree?”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. “I suppose so.”

In all honesty, of was of half the mind to tell him to blow off, but I saw no good practical reason to do so. At the very least, his coin would pay for the eventual boat ride out of here.

“You won’t be disappointed,” remarked Breanna. “Delilah is a top-notch artist. She even apprenticed under Anton Sokolov for several years.”

“Sokolov. Now there is a genius. It is only fitting that someone so brilliant would come from our Isle.”

Did his narcissistic need to blather on about how highly he thought of Tyvia ever cease?

A waiter came to clear our soup dishes, and Fyodor ordered something from him in Tyvian. He returned with a platter full of dumplings. I tried one, attempting to determine the nature of the meat inside, but as with the soup, I was at a loss.

“She doesn’t paint at all like her teacher, however. Delilah’s style of painting is rather unique, I must say. It's unorthodox, but beautiful. Go into it with an open mind and I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.”

“Now you are getting me excited to see it. I await the surprise, but I want my city to be in the background. There is a hill over by the Opera. Find me there tomorrow morning at eleven.”

***

“Are you certain you want to stand for a portrait out here in the cold?” I questioned. “You could be here for a couple hours.”

“I think you are the one afraid of being cold,” he laughed his moronic laugh. “You cannot stand the heat of Serknonos, but you cannot stand the cold of Tyvia either? Where do you belong?”

“In the city on the Wrenhaven,” I muttered under my breath. “I am only doing this for the money. This is why Anton always complained about having to paint aristocrats.”

“At least my paints aren’t frozen,” I said more loudly.

“That is the spirit, as you Gristolians say.”

“Did Breanna teach you that phrase?”

“She did indeed.”

I rolled my eyes behind the shielding graces of the canvas. Fyodor assumed an excessively heroic pose as I blocked on areas of color. Every interplay of sunlight and shadow behind him was transformed under my artist’s eye. Where the snow and cloudy grey sky had drained the world of its color, I set out to fill it back in with lilac, violet, emerald, and blue.

Breanna sat on a bench just far enough away from Fyodor so that I didn’t have to paint her, but near enough to hold a comfortable conversation. She gazed at the building at the foot of the hill. The Opera, apparently. Its face was made up of arches and intricately detailed reliefs depicting a procession of characters in garb from the last century as they paraded through a forest. Lights had been installed in the arches, and it was certain to make quite the spectacle of the building at night.

“Yaro is so beautiful and elegant. Dunwall only focuses on building large and quickly, or to show off new technologies,” Breanna said. “Truth be told, it’s rather cold.”

“If I did not know better, I would say that this beautiful Gristolian lady is becoming infatuated by my homeland.”

“Maybe I am. There’s a lot to like about this place,” she sighed.

“I must give you a tour. We have many buildings like this Opera in Yaro, though few are quite as splendid.”

“Are Tyvian Operas anything like those in Dunwall? All about bombast and tragedy that the storyline may or may not be dramatic enough to support?”

He laughed. “No, not like that at all. It is not about singing or forced emotions or fancy costumes. Tyvian opera is about dancing and real, heartfelt passion. You have not seen an opera until you have seen a Tyvian opera. If you visit Yaro, it is what you must do. There will be a very famous opera playing tomorrow night. I think you would call it “The Rose Queen” in Gristolian. It is based on a very beautiful, very old Tyvian folk tale. One of my favorites. They always play it at this time of year. I will buy you the tickets.”

***

“What do you think I should wear?” Breanna questioned as she turned this way and that to get a look at herself in the mirror.

“One of your dresses of course. You have more than enough.”

“This is a special occasion, Delilah. A Tyvian opera! I can’t just show up in some unfashionable rags. Especially not when all the ladies here dress so well.”

“Your clothes are fine And if you think of them as rags, then why did you buy them?”

“Okay, they’re not rags, but they’re all from Serkonos and Morley. The would look just fine there, but we’re in Tyvia. They have such beautiful fabrics here. It makes the dresses from the rest of the Isles look positively dull in comparison. Oh, I simply must have one! That’s it. I’ve decided to go shopping for this evening. I don’t suppose you would like to come?”

“Unlike you, I am perfectly fine with the dress I brought from Gristol.”

“That old thing? Are you sure? It’s entirely black. You’ll look like a bat in it.”

“Somebody has to be frugal to make up for your loose wallet.”

“Come now. You know the dresses look lovely on me. It’s money well spent. You see how the men look at me.”

My fists clenched. “I thought you would have had enough of that back at the Golden Cat.”

“Where did that come from?” she said in a notably more bitter tone. “It’s been a long time since then. I've moved on. I thought you had too.”

“The past never really leaves you, you know.”

“Delilah. I’m going shopping now, and I’m going to enjoy it. Why don’t you sit here and read or get ready for the opera to calm down. I don’t want to come back and have to listen to that tone of voice.”

She turned, proceeded out the door and shut it firmly behind her. I sighed, and went over to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and comb my hair. That done, I picked out the dress from my luggage. It was wrinkled from being stored there for so long. I went over it with the iron the hotel had provided and hung it up on the door frame of the bathroom.

All this took very little time, considering. I sat down on the bed, realizing how quiet the hotel room was without her. The walls pressed down all around me. I shook off the feeling and reached for the Metaphysika Mysterium. The silence provided for a good reading environment, at least.

I picked up where I had been the other day, reading through the catalogue of powers. Many were fanciful, from summoning up swarms of rats or stinging insects to levitating objects and even people. There was even mention of the ability to open locks without a key, as Jessamine had done. As I read through the rest of the chapter, I found little which applied to me. Even the fast-flying darts that Breanna and I were now able to fire from our fingertips and the blood-curdling screams that sent shock waves out from our mouths were not mentioned. Then I found it: an account of my projection power right at the very end.

Despite its superficial resemblance to the first of the listed powers, the ability to stand in two or places at once is differs in three regards.

Firstly, the heretic does not actually transverse themselves to a new location, but merely creates a semi-solid copy of themselves at the desired location. It appears that they are able to control the copy separately from their own body, and even to see and speak through them. Upon physical contact, the copy will appear solid for a second before dissipating.

Secondly, the range of this ability is not limited, and the heretic may send a copy just about anywhere they desire, so long as they have some sort of connection to the destination.

Thirdly, in that the basic use of this power appears to mimic the first recorded power, so too may it's more creative applications replicate other listed powers. For instance, instead of choosing to send a copy to a location, an agent of the Outsider might choose to aim inside of another living being, much like possession. Again, it seems similar limits apply, thankfully for the victim’s sake.

I laid down the Metaphysika Mysterium on the night stand to ascertain if what it said was true. I opened the door to the hotel room, and gave a thorough look and listen in each direction. Satisfied that no one was there, I shut it and prepared to project. Indeed, I found myself on the other side of the door. With a surge of satisfaction, I released the projection. If the Metaphysika Mysterium was any indication, this was one of the most complicated and mysetrious powers out there. Its limits certainly warranted further experimentation.

For now, though, I would get changed for the opera. The hour had gotten late while I’d been reading. Breanna would likely return shortly.

Not a moment after I’d donned my dress, she appeared through the door, bearing a colorful bag under her shoulder.

“A shame you were too much of grump to come. These Tyvians do dresses like none other,” she greeted me.

I waved a hand. “I’m afraid that this is the only dress that I would look good in.”

She gave me a glance over. “Fyodor was right. If it weren’t for your figure, you’d look like a man.”

"Do you listen to everything Fyodor says?"

“Still in a snit? Oh, do lighten up. We’re supposed to enjoy this evening. I was only teasing. Of course you don’t look like a man.”

Breanna headed off to the bathroom to change. I stood leaning against the wall in wait for her. She certainly was taking her sweet time.

When she emerged, it was like seeing an already gorgeous butterfly undergo a second metamorphosis, and return as a mythical creature with its widespread wings glistening even more. Her dress was made entirely of silk in burgundy and scarlet hues with intricate patterns of gold working their way up its length in broad stripes. Its elegant folds of fabric hung down to her shapely calves. Above the sleeves flowed light and loose over her arms in a manner distinctly Tyvian. The entire ensemble was finished off with a series of flowers and leaves wrought in the crimson and gold fabric all about the bust line. It plunged just low enough to prove an expert understanding of what to reveal and what to keep secret.

If the dress alone wasn’t beautiful enough, Breanna had matched it with a perfectly controlled bun of her raven hair held together with jeweled hair pins. It brought her dainty neck into full view, where two strings of pearls hung delicately, one tight, one looser. All of this was finished off with an artistic application of make-up, developed during her years at the Golden Cat, no doubt. The pigments blended naturally into her face, transforming her from a beauty into an alluring mystery.

“How do I look?”

She span around to give me a good look at all side. The silk picked up the air from her spin, lifting just a little higher. Her twirl came to a neat stop as she pressed both her boots together with a click. The loose fabric wrapped around her hips and calves for a moment before its momentum died down.

“You could seduce anyone in that dress.”

Half of me hoped that she couldn’t see the flush of my cheeks under the pallor. The other half hoped she did.

“Thank you. That was the desired effect. Now, shall we?”


	9. Chapter 9

Fyodor sat on one side of Breanna, and I sat on the other. His garments weren’t much fancier than what he usually wore, save for a few extra ruffles. He and Breanna formed a lovely picture together, sitting side by side as they were. I was the black sheep of the trio. While I would have blended in with any high-class crowd back in Dunwall, compared to the array of colors and patterns favored by the Tyvians, I stood out like a wicked bramble bush among a bed of spring flowers.

The fluttering flutes of the overture gave way to a burst of musical force as the curtains drew back to reveal a backdrop of rolling green hills before a glistening, magical sky. Several female performers stalked onto the stage with light, dancing steps. They were wrapped in tight green silken costumes that lacked sleeves. Around their waists hung layers of stiff fabric, held away from their bodies so as to show off the entirety of their shapely legs. At once, they commenced dancing, with precisely controlled movements that struck me as almost impossibly graceful. In the midst of this, a male player strode on from the right. Unlike the dancers, he wore only simple black and white. In a far departure from the rigid laws of musical accompaniment, he began narrating.

Fyodor leaned into Breanna’s ear to translate. I could just barely make him out through the music. “Long ago, there was a garden where flowers grew wild and free. They only knew of the passing of seasons, of blooming, and of wilting.”

Dancers in romanticized peasants’ clothing strode on stage, all male. One by one, they grasped hands with the green-clad dancers and proceeded to dance a series of swift steps with their partners. Judging by the proximity to one another, I got the impression that this dance in any other context would have been very romantic if not erotic. All the heat had been thoroughly bred out of their motions in search of limber perfection.

“They came to this garden and saw that the flowers were pretty. Each took one for his own. It was only one, but the people were many. The garden soon grew bare. The remaining flowers knew that if they did not act, they would die.”

Simultaneously the green-clad dancers, flowers I supposed, broke free from their partners and formed a spinning circle at the center of the stage.

“They took the best from each of themselves, and together made a new flower.”

Smoke began to rise from the stage floor in the very center of the twirling circle of dancers.

“She was to be the best of the flowers. As beautiful as them all combined, and many times more deadly.”

Through the smoke, a flash of red emerged. As it dissipated, the form of another dancer was revealed. Her costume was akin to that of the flowers, but much more elaborate, and entirely composed of bright flashing crimson.

“They called her the Rose Queen, and she was equal parts love and poison.”

Chaos erupted on the stage. The music sprang forward in tempo and grandeur. The flowers broke from their circles and rushed in aggressive weaves about the the peasants. All the while, the Rose furiously spun and spun on only on only one leg faster than I would have ever dreamed possible.

“She was sure to put a little thorn into the hearts of any who came too near. This thorn remained with the men and women throughout the their generations. It was passed from father to son, from mother to daughter.”

The peasants exited the stage in elegant motions of mock-agony. Once they had all been driven off, the flowers returned to their Queen, resuming their circle. The orchestra gave one final holler, and then the music abruptly halted. The flowers froze poses of bent knees and outstretched arms, all pointing inwards toward their queen. The Rose had landed nicely from her spinning, bent at the waist with one lengthy leg spread behind her. It evoked both a curtsy for her fantastic performance and the wilting of the flower she portrayed.

The curtains fell on this perfect image, and opened on a stage filled with the peasants. They leapt and bounded around the stage to the pleasant tune of the music, as broken-backed farmers are not wont to do. Among them, a dancer in a starkly white costume in the vein of that of the flowers and their Rose Queen entered and headed straight for center stage. She danced there for half a minute before another male dancer came on from the opposite side and joined her in a duet. Fyodor explained how they had been childhood friends, and had grown a rose garden together.

One day, the boy fell into the rose bushes they had grown, and reminded him of the thorn he had inherited in his heart. He left his home behind in search of the Rose Queen.

Missing him, the girl set out to find her childhood friend. Her search led her first to the cottage of an alchemist, a strange man who brewed potions and melted down metals in search for the key to eternal life. It was cold, so she came and sat for a while by his fire. There was something mystical  about this place where life was sought from dead materials. A while turned into days, and threatened to turn into years. It was only when she glanced the undying flower glowing brightly as ever from the vase in the window that she remembered her childhood friend. She left the alchemist’s cottage, determined once again to find him, and left the strange alchemist to continue in his pursuit of undying life alone.

A cold wind blew across her, and made her regret leaving for a moment. Just then, she came across a pair of ravens who were watching her from a tree. They rubbed beaks in love. She did not wish to intrude, but she was desperate to find her friend, so she asked if they had seen him. They told her that they could help her find him if only she could keep up with them. Then they took off swiftly, and the girl ran through the thorny woods after them, tearing up the soles of her shoes as she did so.

Finally, when the girl was exhausted and close to collapsing, the ravens landed within the walls of a mighty palace. The girl was intimidated by its size, but her love for her friend drove her onward. Inside, she found not the two ravens, but a prince and a princess. She asked them if they had seen the ravens. They laughed and said that they were the ravens, but were only able to take their true form as humans within the confines of their palace.

For showing the resolve to follow them, even through the cold and thorny heart of the woods, they gave her gifts of warm clothing and a sledge. They pointed north to where the Rose’s garden was hidden, and off she set.

She did not get far before she was set upon by a band of robbers. Their fearsome leader stepped forth, a heavily muscled man just short of being monstrous. He demanded all her valuables, which was little more than the sledge and clothing the ravens had gifted her. Just when it looked as if the robber was about to slit her throat and run off with everything she owned, his dark-skinned daughter appeared. She convinced him to leave the girl alive as a playmate for her.

They became friends. The girl came to trust the robber’s daughter despite her pugnacious nature. Eventually, the robber's daughter even sought fit to give the girl the gift of her freedom. She returned her warm clothes and unlocked the shed that held the sledge. The girl thanked the robber’s daughter, then set off across the snow to the place where the garden was hidden.

On the way, she stopped twice. The first was at the home of a woman who provided her with food and further instructions to the hidden garden. The dancer portraying her looked rather like Breanna, I thought, when I took a closer look through my opera glasses. The second stop was at the home of an apparent mystic. The girl asked her for power to help free her friend from the clutches of the Rose Queen.

The woman only smiled and responded that she needed no power. So long a she continued to be filled with love for her childhood friend, she would be destined to cut back the rows of thorns and remove their blight from her beloved’s heart. Look how far her love had taken her so far. She had never given up, and the people she had met had been touched by her love, and were compelled to help her. Surely the Rose Queen stood no chance before her!

With those words in mind, the girl set out to her final destination. The blanket of snow gave way to the meadow seen at the very beginning of the play. This was the Rose Queen’s garden.

Timed with the final crescendo, the furious Rose Queen appeared in her cloud of smoke. By her side was the boy. They danced, graceful moves becoming sinister under the emotive skill of the duo. The girl danced twirls around them, spinning faster and faster in an attempt to challenge the Rose Queen herself. Her steps and sways were of the utmost innocence. A child’s love given form in this dancer. The music grew louder. The dancing became more beautiful.

I didn’t catch Fyodor’s translation of the narrator’s final line through the din of the orchestra, but judging from the embrace of the boy and girl, and the flinging aside of the dancer playing the Rose Queen, I assumed it was a happy ending.

The curtain fell. The audience broke into thunderous applause, Breanna and Fyodor right there with them. I clapped too. The show had moved me, but what it had made me feel, I wasn’t precisely sure of.

***

“You are right. Opera does not describe it, but I can think of no other word in your language.”

“Whatever it was, it was beautiful,” said Breanna. “I’ve never seen anything like it. What about you, Delilah?”

“It was powerful. I’m still not quite certain what to think.”

“Yaro’s theatre is famous throughout all of Tyvia. What you witnessed here is special. It is understandable that it should leave you without words.”

“I’m glad we found you. Or rather, you found us," said Breanna You’ve given us so much cultural insight that we never would have discovered on our own.”

“Naturally. There are few visitors so far north. You are brave to have come here. Those who do come are never quite so beautiful as yourself.”

They were clasping hands. I looked off into the snow gently settling in between the cobblestones of the street before me.

“I can only imagine what wonders you will have in store for us tomorrow,” she said dreamily.

“Oh, but Yaro is so full of wonders. Where should I even begin?”

“Surprise me.”

“That I will. I shall see you tomorrow, yes, Breanna?”

“Of course. We can go and do whatever you’re planning after Delilah is done with her painting for the day.”

“I will look forward to it. For now, you two must get back to your room before the night gets too cold yet. Tyvian weather is harsh and fickle. It would not do for you to catch a cold.”

“It wouldn’t at all. Good night, Fyodor. Have a safe journey home, and see you in the morning.”

“You as well.”

His hand left hers too slowly for my liking, but I was glad to see him go. He sauntered off into the dark, leaving us alone to find our way back to the hotel together.

Breanna swayed to and fro in the buttery glow of the lamp posts, humming the motif from the opera in pleasant tones. Her thick woolen coat covered the glamorous dress beneath, save for when she turned quickly enough for a flash of red to spread out from under it. It emphasized her womanly movements all the more. The vapor reaching up from her breath swirled and curled into mystical golden patterns under the street lights. The drifting snowflakes settled on her coat and in her glossy black hair without melting. She glistened like the stars in the sky.

“It’s magical here. Like a beautiful dream,” she mused, gazing out into the night.

I picked up the pace to catch up with her, bringing myself to her side. “Indeed it is.”

“It may be cold, but that only makes it all the more beautiful. I think, out of all the places we have visited, that this is my favorite.”

“Even more than sunny Cullero?”

“Don’t get me wrong. Serkonos is beautiful. Especially that coastline, and those amazing sunsets. But it was the first place I visited. Of course I was infatuated. It was just so exotic! Fyodor is right about the cold and the sense of solidarity. Right now, all I really want to do is curl up in a warm bed and gaze out the window. The world is beautiful. It fills me with so much joy.”

She raised one leg off the ground and arched her back, mimicking one of the Tyvian dancers as best she could. She sighed deeply, as if filled with an ineffable happiness. I found myself smiling in turn at the serene expression on her face. I reached out to take her hand, and she used it for support as she stretched her back leg out as far as it would go. Her torso bent forward in an attempt to form a straight line with her body. We laughed and giggled from the effort. She wasn’t nearly so graceful and limber as the dancers from the show, but held the pose decently enough for a few seconds.

Upon righting herself, she pulled closer and I helped her to spin about on one foot. Our impromptu dance ended as she leaned back, allowing gravity to pull her downward. I held her steady with an arm wrapped around the small of her back, then used the leverage to pull her back upward again. We stood there face to face. Glistening sparks danced across the surface of her eyes from the reflected light of the lamp posts.

I surveyed the night around us. No one was there to have seen us dancing.

It was now or never.

I pulled her face closer and pressed my lips against hers. They were sweet and warm behind the superficial chill of her flesh. My lips remained there for half a second before she pushed me away.

She just stood there, staring for a long moment. Her figure had lost its litheness and stood rigid and conserved before me.

“What did you do that for?”

“The moment seemed right,” I said, grasping for a plausible answer.

She tucked her arms around her body and looked down at her feet. “It was awfully strange.”

“You don’t-- I just-- wanted to see what would happen.”

“I’m not here for you to experiment on. I’m not a prostitute anymore.”

“Breanna, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

She raised a hand to stop me, still looking away. “Don’t say anything. Let’s just go back to the hotel and forget this ever happened.”

***

“I presume you’ve thought of a suitable surprise?” Breanna asked Fyodor as I cleaned and stored my brushes.

“Yes. You will never guess what it is!”

“Oh, I can hardly wait.” Then as almost an afterthought, she added, “Delilah will you be coming?”

“No. I have to return the painting and supplies to our hotel room. Then I thought I would go out shopping for a teapot and some loose leaves.”

Fyodor laughed. “Our Tyvian tea has grown on you, has it?”

“You could say that, though I hate to admit it.”

“Perhaps you will have a brew ready and waiting when we get back?”

“Perhaps.”

I watched the tops of their heads disappear down the side of the hill. When they had gone, I blinked back to the hotel room in almost no time at all.

There, instead of setting the painting aside in the closet, I pulled open the easel again and set the painting on it. I shifted it until it sat perfectly square on its pedestal. Once it was in place, I walked over to where the Metaphysika Mysterium lay on the nightstand and read over the passages of interest. Setting it down where it was, I went off to the bathroom to ready my paints.

White to white. Blue to blue. Violet to violet. Red to red. I touched dots of fresh paint to the image. My pigments. His likeness. A connection was formed, and I set my will surging through it.

A rush of emotions that were not my own flowed back into me just as I was looking half out of his eyes and half out of mine. I felt the pleasurable excitement from him, directed thoroughly towards the beautiful woman at his side. They walked down an alley lined with the occasional curio shop or cafe.

I projected myself further into him, now feeling the movement of his muscles and the inaudible whispers of his thoughts. Unlike the possession spoken of in the Metaphysika Mysterium, I hadn’t suppressed him yet. Nor did he realize that I was here.

Leaning in just a little farther, I tried to determine if there was any love for Breanna there.

I found none. Just the tingling excitement of lust. Good. He was nothing but a manipulative playboy. He deserved what he was about to get. What I was going to do would save Breanna from this heartless man. She should be thanking me.

I gathered up all my unhappiness and resentment, and formed them into a thorn of my own making. From that thorn bred many others, an entire forest of malice. I sent the resulting vines into one leg, then the other, then into both arms.

He jolted as if he had been hit in the back by something.

“Are you okay?” Breanna stopped to ask.

“Yes. Yes. I think so. I must have tripped.” His voice hardly concealed a wheeze of pain.

“If you say so,” said Breanna.

They continued along the alleyway. Fyodor did his best to walk normally, so as not to reveal his sudden burst of pain to his lady friend.

When he reached a fork in the alley, he intended to go straight, but the offshoot was an alley darker and narrower, so I pulled on the thorns, and his limbs obeyed yanking him into the cramped space. This time he couldn’t cover up the agony. A groan escaped from his lips.

“Fyodor?”

He panted heavily and leaned against the wall of the alley with one arm for support. Breanna approached cautiously, extending a hand to try and steady him.

My thorns thrusted his arm upwards and caught Breanna at the wrist. She leaped back in surprise, but was held tight by the strength of his grip. I forced him to pull her forward and shove her against the alley wall. With his free arm, I forced her head upwards, pressing it back uncomfortably against the limestone bricks. Her eyes grew wide with panic, and she struggled under Fyodor’s heavy hand. He made no effort to fight my control over him. I sensed he was just as shocked as Breanna, and probably didn’t even realize what was happening.

I pulled his hand just a little further down, so that Breanna wouldn't suffocate herself if she struggled too much. This gave enough room to free up Fyodor’s other hand. It reached down for its target.

For one horrid moment, I wondered what I was doing and why. Breanna’s face was lit up with a terror that stripped away all of its beauty. It was a sight I had never seen on her before and never wanted to again. Was I really doing the right thing?

No. I had already gone this far. I had already made this decision. I couldn’t back out of it now.

Breanna’s face was clouded over by a burning sea of all my anger. Fyodor’s free hand slipped down and pulled at the buttons of his coat, then at his fly beneath.

That was more than enough. Even if this was for her own good, I couldn't stand this any longer. I withdrew my overbearing presence from his body.

It was just in time to avoid the brunt of the pain as Breanna thrust a fist forward and unleashed a barrage of furious darts straight into his side. They erupted with a sickly tearing sound from his back and tore through his expensive fur coat without any sign of slowing.

Fyodor collapsed backwards. He stared in horror at the gushing crimson that lit up one side of his body, then down at his prick held loosely in his left hand.

“What? What?” he burbled stupidly.

Breanna shook with nerves and indignation. “What exactly do you think I am?!!”

“You… You're a witch.” His voice bloomed with disturbing realization.

“You’re absolutely fucking correct!” She gave him a sharp kick in the ribs. “I thought you were a decent man, at least. I was wrong. You’re nothing but a fucking terrible beast!”

“Breanna, I did not do this. I do not know what happened.”

She kicked him again, and spat for good measure.

“Shut up! Go bleed to death in this cesspool of a city that you love so much. Wait, I take that back. Contract some horrible disease from the dirt on this street and rot away from the inside out. Its the least you deserve.”

She lifted her boot not to kick him this time, but to rub the sole against his open wounds. He winced in pain, but made no move to stop her. He probably figured he deserved it.

“If I ever see you again, I will kill you in a way that is even slower and more painful.”

Satisfied with her warning, she blinked off to somewhere that I couldn’t see through Fyodor’s eyes. He responded to her disappearance not with shock or awe, but with a low, unmanly whimper. Even as he slumped against the street, he pulled his coat around to conceal himself. I smiled an invisible smile. He was right. It was exactly what he deserved.

Voices calling out from the other end of the alley indicated that it was time to depart. Two locals had been alerted by Breanna’s shouting. They came running, speaking in urgent Tyvian.

I released my projection and found myself sitting comfortably in the hotel room as if I’d never left. I nonchalantly put the painting and my supplies away.

Now all that was left to do was to pick up that kettle and those tea leaves.

***

“Breanna? You’re here already?”

She was sitting on the bed, turned away from me. Her pose looked pained and defensive. She made no effort to answer.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We need to leave Yaro immediately. Today, if possible. They know I’m a witch.”

I sat beside her on the bed, and laid a hand on her shoulder. She flinched away from me.

“Breanna, what happened? This isn’t like you.”

It had to be done. Even if it had hurt her.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Just… I thought I had escaped something. Put my old life behind me. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m a former prostitute who hasn’t escaped being treated like an object to won and used, despite what I thought. I might never have a decent, fulfilling human relationship again.”

“Don’t say that. I’m here for you. We’re friends. Look, you once told me not to isolate myself. Please take your own advice.”

“I’m not going to leave you and return to being completely powerless. I want to be a witch. There’s nowhere else to go,” she said dryly.

“I don’t know what happened, but it clearly affected you greatly. You’re right. Let’s get out of this place. You’ll feel better once we do. We can make new memories. Better ones. Then you’ll forget all about what’s troubling you.”

“Unless it happens again. It just might. Why must I continue to make bad decisions? Why do I keep allowing myself to be hurt? Why can’t I just leave it behind me once and for all? I’m so stupid.”

“No, you’re not, Breanna. You’re very clever, and your magic is almost as powerful and versatile as my own, even without the Mark.”

She held herself for a while, staring into the quaintness of the wallpaper.

“Alright. I’ll try. But I have a new life goal now. I want to become so powerful a witch that I can prevent something like this from happening again. Not just to me, but to others as well.”

Her hand reached out and stroked the cover of the Metaphysika Mysterium where it rested beside her on the bed.

“I’ll read as much as I can. Practice hard. Become the best witch I can be. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll even learn to project like you can. Then I'd be unstoppable.”

She never would of course. Only some of my powers could be shared with her. It was just as well. Projection was the most confusing and maddening of my powers. I didn’t want to see its mental strain reduce her from the smart and bright-eyed woman I knew into a dour, troubled soul.  Her words were already taking her too close to that realm of sorrow. I reached out again, trying to console her, but she sprang up and set to packing.

“Hurry! You pack too. We don’t know when the Tyvian Overseers will find us.”

“What about the painting? It’s not done yet, but it’s close. I’m certain I could finish it up with just another session. Fyodor is paying a handsome sum.”

The skin between her eyes scrunched up with the thought of what was painted upon the canvas.

“No, Delilah. I think you should burn it.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I still have those tea leaves from Yaro, if you’d like a cup. I know you loved the taste.”

“No thank you, Delilah.”

Breanna eyed me from over the glass of Gristol cider. She’d been quiet and distant ever since leaving Tyvia. I wanted desperately to reach out a comforting hand to her, but I knew it was still too soon. She had made it very clear that she didn’t wish to be consoled.

“What do you plan to do now?” she asked delicately. Her gaze wasn’t fixed on me, but rather hovered over the sea off the coast of Redmoor. Storm clouds were shifting on the horizon and a chill wind was preceding them.

It was a good question. Breanna’s declaration that she wanted to be the best witch she could be had not been hollow. At her request, I had given the Metaphysika Mysterium to her for study. She had taken to it with fervor, locking herself in the ship’s cabin to read all the way back to Gristol. I myself had read through much of the text in my spare time during our journeys. I would wait until she had burnt herself out before asking for the book again. In the meantime, she could read all she wanted. Since she didn’t bear the Mark, her powers were limited, and I doubted she’d ever truly know the extent of my abilities.

She took another swig. “We can’t keep traveling the Isle the way we have been now. Not anymore. So what do you intend to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said simply.

“You don’t know? That’s dangerous.”

“Then what would you suggest I do?”

“You’re asking me? It’s your life.”

“Is there really any harm in asking?”

“Hmph. Well, if I had your artistic talent, I’d go back to Dunwall and become a painter again. Not a roving artist who sells her landscapes and portraits for some petty coin, like you have been. No. A serious one. One who could be admitted into the Guild of Fine Arts and would have their work displayed in museums even after their passing. Gain fame, influence. Start using that to make statements about the society we live in and all its injustices. Maybe people would listen. Maybe I could change things. Of course, that’s what I would do, not what you’re going to do.”

“You’d be executed the moment the Overseers caught scent of your witchcraft.”

“Yes. I would. You wouldn’t. Sokolov would have found a way to clear your name. Believe me, many members of the aristocracy enjoy dabbling in heresy as a pastime. If the Abbey can turn a blind eye to them, they can find a way to turn a blind eye to you.”

She downed the rest of her cider in measured gulps. Wind howled. Waves crashed against the shore. Breanna held her coat around her tenderly with one hand. She looked lost and vulnerable, facing into the coming storm.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” I said. I couldn’t bear this silence any more.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m sorry. But whatever happened to you, I know you’ll get over it some day. You have internal strength.”

Her eyes fell upon me. Odd and considering. “If you were anyone else, I’d tell you that the past doesn’t just disappear with a few words, but that’s what brought you to where you are now, isn’t it? What precisely is your story? What’s your oh-so-tragic past?”

I closed my eyes. My past was something I hadn’t told to anyone since Anton had confronted me about it all those years ago. Back then, it had come out in burst of pain, the floodgates of many years of silence finally opened. I had feared for the consequences of letting my secrets loose. He had instead offered me his comforting arm. Would Breanna do the same? I doubted it. She was too vulnerable at the moment. But I couldn't just ignore the question. That would strain our friendship, something that we couldn't afford to have happen right now. I decided to give her part of the story.

“When I was young, I served as a baker’s apprentice in Dunwall Tower. My mother was a servant there for many years.”

She looked at me as if I had just told her I’d been to the Outer Spheres and back.

“What? That’s huge! I thought, if anything, that you’d been given exposure to a minor noble house, not the seat of power for the entire Empire itself! I can’t believe you’ve never told me that before, despite all this time we’ve been traveling together!”

“It’s a sensitive spot for me. I didn’t exactly leave of my own volition.”

She rolled her eyes. “The time you spent there is significant, regardless of whether you were asked to leave or not. It looks to me that you don’t just act like a noblewoman of your own accord. Some of the Empress’s decorum lessons must have rubbed off on you, your Ladyship.”

“I’m considered just as common born as you.”

“From your perspective, maybe. Let me make a comparison. I grew up in a small village in the countryside. Occasionally someone would move to the big city, but for the most part everyone lived and died there. No one expected anyone from the village to amount to much more than following in their parents’ shoes by taking over their farm or craft when they got too old to work. I hated it. I felt stifled. All those stories I kept hearing of people striking off to the big city and becoming rich or famous fascinated me. That’s what I wanted, not to be just another housewife of some abusive lout. Only after several years in Dunwall did I realize that those stories were just propaganda to convince cheap laborers to come to the factories. You, on the other hand, growing up in Dunwall Tower? It seems to me like you were destined for greatness from the start. Outsider’s eyes, you must have gotten the same education as the Empress herself.”

“I made bread and pastries for the Imperial family. Merely another servant. Hardly any reason to associate with me, much less give me an education.”

“Who was the eighth Emperor of the Isles?”

“What? The eighth was a woman. Zolana Olaskir.”

“See? Most people wouldn’t know history well enough to answer that. I only knew that because I read about it in one of my client's books. Where did you learn it?”

“At-- very well. You have a point.”

Breanna turned away from me and stared out at the open sea again. In the time since I’d last looked, the dark clouds had risen up like the thundering heads of a stampede of Blood Oxen coming our way. It tore strands of lovely hair from Breanna’s tight bun, and they whipped this way and that about her head.

“Perhaps we should get back to our room before the storm reaches us,” I suggested.

She nodded and gathered up her empty glass to return it to the tavern and pay for its now-consumed contents. She reappeared a moment later, hands shoved deep into her coat pockets. Her eyes wandered across the ground as she proceeded to the exit of the beer garden without looking at me. I followed her down the path to the bottom of the bluff, where central Redmoor was waiting below.

We reached the bottom. The streets were desolate thanks to folks smart enough to already be safe and warm indoors. It was like a strange, distatnt world that we had stumbled into, just the morose Breanna and I. There was only empty cobblestone and the impending threat of nature's wrath.

“I don’t understand you,” Breanna said suddenly. “You act in ways that I can’t comprehend.”

I didn’t know how to respond, much less what had made her say it. We may have come from different backgrounds, but we were alike in nature. Both of us desired something more, and both of us lived in a world that was firmly determined not to give it to us.

We passed by the clock tower, then the town hall, and several rows of houses and apartment buildings in silence.

“You shouldn’t have denied me,” came a voice suddenly, echoing off the stone buildings.

I looked around. No one but Breanna was in view, and the voice was certainly male, low and menacing. It must have come from one of the side alleys, and we likely weren’t its intended recipient.

“Stupid old bitches like you, you think you can do and say whatever you please.” It was another voice, also male. “Well, you’re wrong there. You’re going to give my friend here his due, whether you like it or not.”

Breanna glanced at me sideways, and pointed a finger upwards. She blinked away, to the rooftops, presumably. I followed and found her up there, surveying the scene below.

The voices belonged to two members of the local City Watch. There were three of them there, one of which held a woman tightly with her arms bent behind her. The only struggle she could muster was the occasional shudder. From the looks of it, she was ageing, though not yet old enough to have a head full of white hairs. Her captors were all much physically stronger than her and there was nothing she could do to escape them.

“Go on, take her belongings. She’s more than lost her rights to them by now,” said the first guard.

The second snatched away the purse that had fallen by her side. He emptied its contents carelessly, throwing several small objects into the filth of the street. When he found her money, he quickly pocketed it, then continued digging. At the bottom, his hand rested within the contents for a long moment. Then he began drawing it out slowly, as if the object in question were unusually shaped.

“Please, not that! Take the rest, but leave me that!”

“Shut up, whore!” shouted the man holding her captive. He gave her a violent shake.

The first guard nodded to show the truth of the statement. “Best keep quiet. Say something again, and this is going to be even more unpleasant for you than it already is.”

The next thing I knew, Breanna was standing behind him and had driven a knife into the back of his neck.

“Wha-- witchcraft!” cried the second guard as his hand left whatever was in the purse.

Breanna snapped her head around in a predatory motion. She tugged at the knife but it remained lodged within its victim’s neck. I watched as the guard hastily pulled out his pistol. But he wouldn’t be fast enough. The beginnings of a scream festered at Breanna’s lips.

The unleash of power caught the guardsman halfway through his draw. He flew backwards, and landed on the cobblestones with an unpleasant crack.

In this time the one holding the woman hostage had realized the danger, and prepared himself. The muzzle of his gun rested squarely against the side of his captive’s head.

“Don’t move! You’re with her, aren’t you? I should have known that this whore was a witch! Take one step closer, and your sister gets her head rearranged!”

The fire was burning in Breanna’s eyes. I could see the cogs in her head turning even from here. But she was angry and irrational under the influence of her melancholy state. She was likely to do something that would result in the death of the woman she was trying to save, and possibly harm to herself as well.

It was time to intervene.

Very few people fail to underestimate my strength. With the added benefit of surprise, it was easy to blink in beside the remaining guardsman and force his arm sharply upwards. He pulled the trigger, but not before I had pushed his aim loose of the captive woman’s head. An explosion of gunpowder rushed through my ears and singed but a few hairs on the woman’s head.

Though my ears rang from the shot, there was no time to recover. I slammed my lift fist into the man’s gut aiming right under the rib cage. It proved enough to knock the wind from him. The woman fell away from us, released from his grasp. My free hand dove into my pocket and pulled out a hidden folding knife. With a jerk, I opened it, and then went for him. He held up a hand loosely. The blade tore through the skin between his thumb and index finger as he tried to block me. I shoved that arm away with a bat from my own. He was exposed and I used the opening to close the distance between me knife and his neck.

He stepped back, clutching at the wound. He would bleed out from it given time, but for now he was still standing. I positioned myself between him and the woman. She had scrambled to her feet as fast as her limbs had allowed.

“Delilah, look out!” called Breanna.

With the knife still trained between me and the third guard, I turned my head slightly to see that the second one had recovered from his fall and was aiming at me.

This time it was the woman’s turn to help out. She grabbed my shoulder and twisted with her own body in such away that we both fell to the cobblestones together. The bullet flew through the space we had just been standing in.

The guard whose throat I had slit lurched forward. His left hand held the gushing wound, but his right hand was closed just strongly enough on his sword to control it.

Breanna blinked beside him, and grabbed on to his sword arm. She was nowhere near as strong as I was, and the struggle only resulted in her being pushed away. It was more than enough time. Darts from my hand blanketed his side. They drilled grievous wounds all along the top of his thigh and bottom of his torso. He collapsed from the pain. I rose, pulling the woman along with me. We backed away from where he lay, trashing his sword out uselessly at our ankles.

That left the matter of the last guard. Any will he had to fight had been driven out of him and replaced by sheer terror. He turned to run, but something must have been damaged in his leg from the fall because all he could manage was an awkward limp. Breanna was after him in a second, the click of her boots resounding on the cobblestone. She blinked left to avoid a poorly aimed gunshot, then caught up with him. Her knife hand rose and dove into him. Once, then again, and again. He fell to the ground and stopped moving before her arm did.

I blinked behind her, my arms finding my way around her waist to pull her away from the corpse. “Breanna! Breanna! Calm down! It’s okay. He’s dead. It’s over.”

Breathing heavily, she stepped away, trying to recompose herself. Her bun had become almost entirely undone. Long locks fell away from the hair tie that barely remained in place. It was equally pleasing and disturbing to see the lengths of her disheveled hair.

“We did a good thing, right? Saving that woman?” Breanna breathed hesitantly.

“I certainly think so,” she said.

Despite the turmoil that had just occurred, the woman held herself with a calm, gentle grace. Purposeful, even.

“You may call me Brunhilde,” she said.

“Delilah Copperspoon. Thank you for assisting in the fight back there. That was more than I would have expected from a defenseless woman. I take it you’re alright?”

“Think nothing of it. I saw an opportunity to aid, so I took it. And I am quite fine, thank to you. Who is my other rescuer?”

“Breanna Thatcher.”

“Thank you both very much for taking action. I don't wish to know what they intended.”

“I couldn’t turn away from a woman in need,” Breanna said.

“No? Most people would have just kept going. My predicament would have been none of their business. You two were very brave to act otherwise.”

“You’re surprisingly calm about this, considering. I would have expected you to go running to the Overseers the moment you saw our witchcraft,” I commented.

“What for? You were clearly trying to save me. Just because you are heretics in the eyes of the Overseers doesn’t necessarily make you wicked people. Far from it. You’ve done a better job of protecting me than the Watch ever has,” she said with a disdainful glance at the fallen guardsmen. “No, I feel much safer around you, black magic or not.”

“We just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

Breanna turned. “Maybe it was just chance that we were here at the right time, but we don’t have to keep it that way. If we leave now, she might just be assaulted again. Then who will protect her? Delilah, I think she should come with us. I think we should share our powers with her.”

“Hold on a moment, Breanna. We’ve just met her and know nothing about her. What if she doesn’t want to join us? Or worse, what happens if she betrays us to the Overseers?”

“I trust her,” Breanna said defiantly. “I couldn’t abandon a woman in need. It would hurt too much.”

“If I may speak on my behalf,” said Brunhilde, “I find I concur with your friend. I am quite powerless on my own, just a simple weaver. I live alone. As much as it’s troubling to admit, I am vulnerable. If I might ask, why have you two become witches?”

Breanna spoke first. Her answer came easily. “I didn’t want to be helpless. Imprisoned. I didn’t want to be… used any more. Becoming a witch seemed like the only way out.”

Brunhilde then turned toward me. Of course, I hadn’t chosen to receive the Outsider’s Mark. My brain searched for an answer. Had our roles been reversed, what would have driven me to follow a Marked woman?

“Life has never quite given me my due. Witchcraft hardly makes up for what has been taken from me, but at least it's better than remaining totally powerless.”

“Could it be that you feel society is inherently unfair on some base level? That the nations we live in sacrifice our humanity for the sake of power, and that you only wish you could do something about?”

My eyes rose to meet hers. Her words reminded me altogether too much of what Breanna had said earlier. Who was this woman that we had just saved?

“There are many women who are exactly like you and me. Dissatisfied with what life has handed them, but powerless to change it. If you share your power with me, I ask that you seek out those women wherever you go and offer it to them as well. Together, we might not only survive, but stand strong against the injustices of this world.”

I looked at Breanna prospectively. “I believe this means our journey around the Isles is not over.”

Her hair flowed loose and beautiful in the wind. The gale had pulled the entirety of its raven locks free from the tie. She looked alive again, the depths of what had been ailing her since we left Yaro stripped away by a raging fire of determination. “We’ll need more than one hotel room, won’t we?”

***

I walked along a road up to the Redmoor bluff overlooking Yaro. Below me the city was made of patches, the buildings whose architecture I could recall. In between, the streets, shops and houses were replaced by gaping holes that led only to a realm of endless mist. The Void.

I looked up to see storm clouds and drops of heavy rain frozen in place. Along the underside of the clouds, an upside-down ship was caught in mid-breach of a swell that resembled a rolling wave on an inverse ocean.

The Outsider appeared between me and the ship. Eyes like the storm, but darker, and hinting at more chaos concealed within their unlit depths. I had seen him only in a handful brief encounters since the night he had given me his Mark. Normally, he said much of the same thing, about how he was curious as to what I was going to do next. His visits had abruptly ceased after my gallery showing had gone awry and I left for Serkonos with Breanna.

“Now, this is certainly more interesting. I was afraid that I had made a mistake in granting you my Mark. That you were just going to keep running for the rest of your life. It would have been very disappointing. Now, you’ve started playing a trickier game. Do you think that the woman you so desire will never know of what you did? What of your soon-to-be companions? Will you try to bend them to your will as you did with Breanna? And will they listen, or will they find a way to resist you? This is a matter of conflicting wills. I believe you’ll find that yours is one of the most powerful, but will that be enough to change the world? Or will you bring ruin upon yourself and all your coven through your actions? The song is picking up again, and I eagerly await its conclusion.”

A crack of lightning woke me up. Wind and rain pounded on the windows.

Soon, the storm would pass. Then we would set sail back to Morley.


	11. Chapter 11

There were eleven of us total when camped out in those woods during the late afternoon. Several witches approached from the south, carrying a large buck with them. Evie appeared to be leading the group. She was the newest of our sisters. We found her on the streets of Driscol just a few days ago.

They set the stag down at the edge of the clearing. We had given up trying to find lodging in the cities some time ago. Finding enough beds for nearly a dozen women was far too difficult, not to mention expensive. My paintings could only earn so much, and most of the other sisters didn’t possess any skills that could be used to easily and quickly earn some coin, as I could. Even if they had, the innkeepers were also beginning to find our numbers suspect.

The more joined our ranks, the more sacrifices we had to make. The days of Breanna’s constant supply of new dresses were long past. At first she took ill to the denial, but later reconciled by selling off most of the dresses and jewelry she had acquired, including the ensemble she had worn to the opera in Yaro. I told her that she didn’t need it, and that she would look beautiful no matter what she wore. Breanna had simply shrugged her shoulders and gave no further reaction to the compliment.

Nevertheless, we had been beset by more and more financial difficulties, unti one of us suggested that we spend the night in the woods just outside of town. Many of us were leery of the idea, associating forests with wolves and bears. The reassurance from the handful of sisters who had grown up in the countryside did little to convince us. Only when Breanna made a biting remark about how ridiculous it was that a coven of witches was afraid of spending a night in a forest, we blushingly agreed to do so.

That night had been the first time in weeks that we had went to bed with full stomachs. Under the advice of our more rural members, we had gathered enough nuts, berries, roots, mushrooms, and  even a couple of hares to feed ourselves comfortably. Not only that, but everything was deliciously fresh as well, of the sort some of us who had grown up in the city had never experienced before. Despite the muddy ground and the crawling insects, the feast had been more than enough to convince us that we didn’t need to sleep in a bed to satisfy ourselves.

“If I’d known I could possess powers like these, I would have left my husband a long time ago,” said Evie from beside the fallen stag.

“Your powers have begun to manifest, then?”

“It seems so. They began to show a few hours ago. I asked to join the hunting party to test them out. We came across a herd of deer. Our powers made it easy to kill one of them, but I have no idea how to cut it up properly. Breanna?”

She was sitting on a log in front of the campfire, nose deep in the Metaphysika Mysterium. I wondered how many times she had read it. Many of our sisters couldn’t read, or at least not very well, so I usually found it in Breanna’s hands alone.

“What?” she asked looking up from the book. She saw the buck. “I don’t know how to cut that up, if that’s what you’re asking. Hunting and butchering are a man’s work. My father never taught me.”

“I’ve studied anatomy and done dissections,” I interjected. “Never on this species of deer, but I have taken apart blood oxen and gazelles. The anatomy is similar. We need to drain the blood first, though, don’t we? Help me hang it up, and I’ll do my best to get the meat off the bone.”

I used my knife to make quick, neat incisions to remove the undesirables. The skin came off and the chest cavity was emptied of its entrails and vital organs. It was a sight we had grown used to, even if our sisters had objected to watching the hares being cut up on that first night so long ago. I traced the muscles looking for their origins and insertions. Finding them about where I expected, I separated the meat from the bone, and handed it to my sisters to cook over the fire.

“And here I had this romantic notion that venison would make me never want to eat potted whale meat again,” Evie stated after chewing the first bite of her catch. “We should have made stew instead.”

“You won’t have any choice if we head back to Dunwall,” Brunhilde said as she joined us with her portion of meat in hand.

“I’ve never had the chance to go, actually. I don’t suppose it’s drearier than Driscol?”

“It is, and worse. Dunwall is enormous. You’re likely to get lost if you don’t have an intricate map of the city, and believe me, there are sections of it that you would not want to get lost in. The city’s always changing. They are always building, often just because they can. Not to mention that the Wrenhaven is absolutely infested with river krusts and hagfish. Of course, you wouldn’t want to get near it in the first place. If it’s not covered in green slime, then it’s mucky brown. A far cry from the clear water in that stream over there. Working conditions are terrible, and what little food that money earns is terrible processed gunk. Once we get to Dunwall, you’ll see just how much we’ll miss these woods.”

Evie watched me intently as I ranted. “Pardon me, if I’m wrong, Delilah, but weren’t you born and raised in Dunwall? Why such distaste for your home city?”

I hadn’t realized how poorly I had begun to think of Dunwall either, until the words starting pouring out of my mouth.

“It’s the traveling,” I said. “Everywhere, I see the same thing. Industrialization, senseless building in the name of progress. Everyone suffers through hardship, all for what? Stale bread? I only had it slightly better because I worked in a bakery. Such a life is absurd, compared to what we've seen the world can be like. To think, all of Gristol used to be just like this forest. We eat fresh foods every day, and no one expects us to do some pointless back-breaking labor just to survive. We’re not reduced to cogs in the machine out here. When did we lose sight of what’s really important? When did we forget our humanity in that industrial mess?”

The sisters stared at me in curious silence.

Samantha rubbed the stubs of the missing forefinger and middle finger of her right hand. “It’s true, your words. When the factory owner fired me, he claimed that I had been ‘tampering with the machines.’ He didn’t even give my hand a second thought.”

“You can word things that we didn’t even know that we felt,” said another. “I never thought I would be spending the nights out in the woods amongst a coven of witches, but I’m glad I did. It’s helped me to realize how hollow my previous life could be at times. I feel like I never want to return to it. I don’t look forward to Dunwall.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be headed over the land route. There will be many more nights to spend in the countryside along the way. Let us savor them,” said Brunhilde.

Evie swallowed her current mouthful and turned to Breanna. “You’ve lived in Dunwall, as well, correct?”

“Yes. I moved there when I was about seventeen. My home village is a small hamlet to the northwest. I lived in Dunwall for almost a decade, so I do know it quite well.”

Isabelle jumped in with another one of her excited ramblings. “Delilah was a baker’s apprentice who rose to taking up an apprenticeship under none other than Anton Sokolov, right? It seems a far-off dream to work with someone so famous, much less to even meet them! Is Dunwall truly like that? I mean, it’s the capital of the Empire. I’m bound to run into someone famous eventually. What about you? Have you ever known anyone famous, Breanna?”

“Many. Intimately.”

“Like whom?”

“I don’t recall most of them. They were a bunch of glamorous masks hiding forgettable faces.”

“Surely you can tell me more than that.”

I tried to come to Breanna’s defense. “That’s not--”

“If you must now, I was a prostitute,” Breanna interrupted. “At the Golden Cat. A bathhouse by name, but certainly not by nature.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Breanna tilted her head to look off into the distance. “No matter. I believe you’ll find that the past has a way of keeping up with you, no matter what you do afterwards.”

She sighed, filled her mouth with venison, and returned to the Metaphysika Mysterium.

Her words will filled with a sadness that stung at my very core. If anyone deserved to get over the troubles of her past, it was her. I had offered that to her before. Given her powers, brought her with me to the Isles, away from the filth of Dunwall and the chains of the Golden Cat. If she would only let me help her, I knew she could be strong again. She owed me that.

I spoke up. “Here we are, together in the depths of  a forest, free to be what we used to be, eating well, and happy for it. Things didn’t turn out so badly, now, did they Breanna?”

“No, I suppose not,” she said flatly without lifting her head. She made no indication that she had anything more to say.

In the silence that followed, I founnd myself looking around, and then up. The sun had set, leaving behind a sky that was clear of clouds, and therefore distinctly un-Gristolian. Here, away from the whale oil lamps of the city, I could see them in a clarity that I had never before experienced. There must have been thousands of them all shining in the depths of the night.

“My mother always said that constellation looked like a swimming fish,” said Evie, as her gaze had followed mine. “I never saw it. I always thought it looked like two birds sharing a nest. What do you see?”

“Sokolov once told me that all those stars are really distant suns, just like our own. Imagine that. Are there other worlds out there? Like ours? Are there other people out there living other lives?”

I swallowed. He had also said that they were all headed for a mysterious, all devouring darkness of an unknown nature. What was it precisely? My focus shifted from the stars themselves to the impenetrable blackness between.

“What do you think is in the space between those stars? Is it just endless nothing, going on forever? Does it have something to do with the Void? Or is the Void an even darker and deeper place behind it?”

Everyone stared at me. Then, Brunhilde spoke.

“You’ll make yourself sick if you worry about that too much.”

***

When I had lived in the city on the Wrenhaven, I had thought that its reaches were thanks to the need to house all the factories and their multitude of workers. After finding an abandoned apartment complex after only a few hour’s search, I wasn’t quite so certain. Dunwall spread over the land, taking over all the fields and forest that happened to be too near. This endless expansion was wasteful. Disgusting, even. If there were empty buildings like this around, who was driving the city forth, making foolish decisions to achieve some ill-thought-out purpose?

Jessamine was among them. We might have spent a childhood together, but she had very different values from mine.

I couldn’t judge her for it. Between her constant nightmares and keeping a scandal surrounding Corvo and Emily from rearing its head, I supposed she was doing an admirable job. She made for a decent ruler. Not quite up to par with the late Emperor, though I hated to admit it, but decent nonetheless. Our lives had taken different paths. Though I didn’t like the fact that she was in many ways following in her father’s footsteps, I couldn’t see any other path for her to take, raised in the Tower until adulthood as she was.

Did she still think of me? What would she do if she knew I had returned? She was out there, somewhere in the city, behind the smokestacks on the horizon. In my travels, I had seen wondrous things. Mountains that pierced the sky, lakes of deep enough blue to match even my fantastical pigments, and ancient forests that seemed to never end. How I wished I was back out in those woods. But the industry around Dunwall was too great. Most of the woodlands surrounding it were busy being used for timber. It wouldn't do to have the loggers come across our camp, so Dunwall it was.

From the sound of it, my sisters in the next room over were having a conversation that mirrored my own internal dialogue.

“You’re forgetting that we can’t forage here, unless you want to eat rotting meat from the dumpster. Life in Dunwall is expensive, and getting more so. If we plan to stay in Dunwall for any length of time, we’ll need some source of financial support.”

“But what can we do? I don’t want to return to working in some factory for only a handful of coins a day.”

“Delilah’s paintings can hardly feed all of us.”

Seeing as I’d been called out by name, it was time to join the conversation. Samantha and Evie stood at one side of the room, speaking with Brunhilde. Breanna was leaning against the wall nearby.

“Painting in Dunwall has an added problem. There are quite a number of people here who would recognize my unique style. I wouldn’t want to bring excessive attention to ourselves. That could lead to the Overseers discovering us.”

Or Anton.

“Still, not all of us possess the right skills to earn a significant amount of coin, as you do, Delilah,” said Brunhilde. “Dunwall doesn’t need another weaver or factory worker. An artist of your skill, on the other hand, is a rarer breed.”

“Maybe the answer is fewer paintings for wealthier patrons,” suggested Samantha.

“You know the upper classes of Dunwall better than anyone else here, surely,” Breanna said. “I’m sure you could think of a willing fool to lure in as a patron.”

I gave Breanna a sideways glance. She was in one of her testy moods again. How much I longed for the carefree Breanna who had traveled the Isles with me and danced merrily in many a town square. Instead, here was the return of the sharp-tongued courtesan who I had first met a few years ago. Had she really died back in Tyvia? The thought was almost-- no, the notion couldn’t nursed. I had no intention of showing any sorrow before my sisters. I was the one who had granted them all they had, and I had to be strong for them.

Turning my thoughts back to the question at hand, I tried to come up with an appropriate patron. It had been quite a while since I had mingled with high society. The last time I had met with any aristocrats had been my gallery showing. Wait. There was that man who had pulled me aside to talk business before Anton had driven him off.

“Barrister Timsh.”

Breanna eyed me with an unreadable look. “And of course, you choose a slimy hagfish.”

“I take it you knew him?”

“Not personally. Believe me, I heard ample stories from the other girls. He may be extremely wealthy, but he’s also likely to expect more from you, if you catch my drift.”

I considered her warning for a moment. Anton had hinted at a similar thing. “Actually, I believe that might work to our advantage.

I received a quizzical look.

“Think about it. If he merely wanted a portrait of himself, I would paint it, receive payment, and then be forced to search for another patron. Eventually, all of Dunwall would know that I’d returned. If I can convince him that he’s, say, in love with me, then I can continue to ask for money so long as we need it. Besides, he’s already shown interest in me. My style is too unusual to attract most aristocratic patrons. Timsh is by far our best bet.”

“That sounds like a good enough plan to me,” said Evie.

Breanna closed her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“It will be fine, Breanna. I’ll simply play the part of the aloof artist. Playing hard to get will just make his obsession all the stronger. If I do this correctly, I shouldn't even have to meet with him that often, save when I’m painting for him.”

“Your decision.”

“Delilah, you plan seems reasonable enough to me, but please, if he ever once makes an inappropriate move towards you, I implore you to leave him immediately and never look back,” said Brunhilde.

Breanna nodded at this. “Yes. No one should have to suffer in an unhealthy relationship with someone who thinks that you’re their property.”

I saw Evie’s eyes grow hazy at that. Sadness descended over the room, a visceral reminder of what some of these women had been through before I freed them. They had known just as much pain as I had. It made it all the more important to get my hands on Timsh’s fortune for their sake. We had a right to the money more than some pompous aristocrat who had had everything handed to him just by the accident of his birth.

My face was stern and unfazed. I put it on for my sisters, to reassure them that I was more than capable of being their champion.

“Thank you all for your concern, but there is no need to worry about me. I will be perfectly fine. Just you see.”

***

The letter had laid bare my sad tale of traveling the Isles in a vain attempt to find myself and my own creative genius. Having failed, I had no choice but to return to Dunwall, broken and defeated, with not a coin to my name. I was in desperate need of a patron. If only there were some wealthy man of noble intentions who could come and offer to be my patron. His reply came more swiftly than I expected. He had swallowed down the bait instantly.

I wound my way through the legal district to where Timsh’s estate was situated. It was flanked on all sides by the marble facades of the townhouses that were even more reminiscent of sheer cliff faces than the buildings in the rest of the city. I felt as if I’d fallen into the depths of a pristine, white gorge. Not a single tree or flower was in sight, and the only way I could catch a glimpse of the sky was to lean back and look straight up.

Strange what some people considered to be a high-class lifestyle.

All of the denizens of the Legal District must have been quite wealthy to own property here, but Timsh was clearly displaying that he was foremost among them. His enormous estate stood apart from its surroundings. It was no less than four stories tall, and fronted by a sizable plaza that served no purpose other than to take up space. There would have been ample room for a garden, which is what I would have done with the space, but instead there was simply empty pavement. On further consideration, the plaza was intended to make the estate appear even more massive by comparison. Timsh had surely bought it along with his property so that no one else could build anything in that space. Aristocrats. I could only roll my eyes as I made my way up to the oversized ornate wooden doors and knocked three times.

A servant opened it for me. Fortunately the hinges were well calibrated, otherwise the slim, wiry woman wouldn’t have been able to move them. She had soft, dark eyes, and appeared to be of Serkonan ancestry, her still babyish features betraying a relatively young age. I placed her as even younger than I had been when I started painting under Anton’s guiding eye. Strands of dark chestnut hair fell sloppily away from her bun, as if she’d had to hastily put it back together without the aid of a mirror. It struck me a distinctly unprofessional, especially for such an esteemed household.

The woman took a look at the brushes and paints tucked in a bag under my arm. “You’re the artist he said would be arriving, yes?”

“That’s me.”

“He’s up in the studio he’s made for you on the top floor. If you’ll kindly follow me.”

She led me across the entrance lobby to a set of stairs at its back. I spotted what appeared to be hooks driven into the wall just above. So, he’d already set out a space to hang my painting, had he?

The lobby had a high ceiling, which the second story wrapped around. The maidservant led me along a circuitous route around it to the next flight of stairs.

“Timsh only told me that an artist was coming to paint his portrait. He never said that you’d be a woman.”

“Why should that matter?” I challenged. “There are plenty of female artists out there.”

“Yes, of course, but-- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. That was not what I intended.”

She remained silent until we reached the top of the final staircase.

“The studio is that room at the end of the hallway.”

“Thank you, er…”

“My name?” She sounded surprised that I was asking. “It’s Melina.”

“Delilah Copperspoon. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Melina shook my hand cautiously before curtsying and turning to hurry back down the stairs.

Alone, I turned and proceeded down the hallway. At its end, there was a shut door to my left. If I listened closely, I was certain that I could hear faint snoring interrupted every now and then by an incoherent murmur. It was no matter. Timsh was the one I had come to see, and he was waiting in the studio before me.

When I opened the door, I decided that ‘studio’ was a strong word for the space. It appeared as if it had been converted from a storage closet, albeit a large one, at a moment’s notice. It was a good thing that I’d brought my own supplies, because the selection provided looked woefully inadequate. At least the canvases and easel appeared serviceable.

Timsh himself was standing at the other end of the room, back partially turned to me, with a cigar smoldering in his hand. He wore an expertly tailored suit that he believed indicated him as a man worthy of attention. In my opinion it made him look just like any other rich man in a rich man's outfit. Merely another privileged fool who had inherited everything they had without so much as raising a finger. It made me sick. I toyed with the thought of utterly destroying him through use of projecting into my painting. Not now. I needed him for the money, but perhaps later. It would show him how little good that silver spoon of his really was.

I silently braced myself. The sooner I got to painting this little man, the sooner I could be free of his presence.

“Arnold Timsh, I presume?”

“Indeed. Well met, miss Copperspoon. It has been quite some time since we last met, hasn’t it, now? I take it you are still painting with those vibrant colors of yours?”

“You assume correctly.”

“That’s perfectly fine, my dear. Paint me as you see fit. But if I have one request, I would ask that you represent my person with realistic proportions and hues. For the sake of publicity, you understand.”

“Of course.”

He set about posing in a dignified manner. The cigar was extinguished and held in one hand. As he settled into his chosen position, I examined his frame and center of balance for a long minute. I placed the appropriate sketch down on the painting, and started constructing a mental image of what the finished painting would look like. Returning to artwork was soothing, even if I didn’t care for my subject. I hadn’t painted much since we started sustaining ourselves in the forests and stopped requiring so much cold coin for our livelihood. With joy, I set brush to canvas.

I purposefully downplayed some of the more subtly arrogant portions of his bearing. The man certainly knew how to display the sharp lines created by his sunken cheeks in an infuriating manner. It was like painting that pompous Tyvian hound all over again. At least Timsh was proving himself to be tolerable enough. He didn’t force me to paint outside in the freezing Tyvian weather, and actually made an effort to provide me with a decent working space, even if it was misguided. No, Timsh was behaving as a proper gentleman should. It seemed that my sisters had been worrying about nothing.

It was he who should be wary of me.

I mixed together another vibrantly glowing shade of pigment. Even as the composition took form, I sent my will crawling slowly through it, tracing thorny vines around his heart, pulling him painfully closer to me. He jerked ever so slightly at their touch, then resumed his posture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting.


	12. Chapter 12

I knew I had walked through this forest before, though the trees looked as if they had been uprooted from many different woodlands across Gristol and Morley. The leaves below my feet were red and yellow, not you dried up to crackling brown. Yet above, the leaves hung in the height of their verdant glory. Above all that was the swirling mists that were infinitely more chaotic than the measured movement of the stars. The Void. I was experiencing one of my dreams again.

Knowing the nature of these dreams, it likely meant something terrible was about to happen.

Cautiously, I proceeded forward. Sounds echoed through the timeless forest, from all directions. As I went on, I found myself in a clearing. Our bedrolls were strewn about the extinguished campfire. From the blackened remains of the fire wood a trail of smoke curled upwards and joined with the Void’s turbulent sky.

Whatever was coming had been waiting for an opportunity. The smoke from the campfire had distracted me just long enough to give it that chance.

It came from behind me, preceded by a low rumbling, then a storming wind that almost knocked me over. I turned to face it, but it was too late. It was coming no matter what I did. All I could do was brace myself for its approach.

In an instant it was upon me, moving so swiftly that I couldn’t see it. I felt myself floating. What was below me? Dunwall? I saw the trace of the Wrenhaven far, far below. It rushed up to me at blinding speed, but before I could crash against the harsh pavement, it slowed and I found myself lightly touching down on cobblestone. This was Teil Street, but it was also Timsh’s estate, and also-- Dunwall Tower? The Jessamine stood with her back to me, frozen in time as she made conversation with the equally immobile Anton. The ground beyond them gave way to the expanse of the Void where rail cars and various machines tumbled in stopped time.

I turned my gaze about my surroundings, as if looking for something, as I studied the maze-like architecture of this island in the Void. It concealed things in its shadows that were never there when I turned to look.

All was still.

“Do you really hate this city for its industrialization, or is there something else that drives you?” asked a voice. It took me a moment to realize it was my own. "Or do you even know?"

I opened my mouth to contest it, but no words came out. Instead, I woke up in the early hours of the morning, alone with the darkness.

***

My painting of Timsh was finished. As I suspected, he indeed planned to hang it by the hooks in the wall above the foyer, but for the time being, it leaned patiently against the wall. I beheld it approvingly, tracing my eyes over the variety of colors and shapes once again. Swirls of mysterious hues danced about the undeserving man. And there, at the bottom were my thorns, encircling the old fool.

“Such an absolutely splendid painting,” he said. His words were overly articulated.

Timsh wasn’t looking at the painting. He possessed a dazed and fawning look trained on me. My plan had worked out perfectly. The man was completely enthralled by my presence.

“In light of its completion, perhaps you would humor me by remaining this evening for a celebratory dinner."

In all honesty, that was the last thing I wanted to do after a long day of painting at his estate. I could not just simply walk away and risk upsetting him, however. His money was far too important to risk losing.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Excellent! The table is already set. I’ll have the servants bring food up.”

He gestured me into the dining room. I entered to see that the table had already made up for two, with a bottle of expensive red at the center. He had clearly planned this. It was a good thing that I did not reject his proposal.

Melina was at the far side of the room, straightening out a bit of rumpled tablecloth. When she heard the doors open, she looked up, spotted us, and then hurried out of the way.

We took our places, Timsh sitting opposite from me.

“Melina, the wine please, my dear,” he called.

She complied, uncorking the bottle and filling both of our glasses. Timsh gave her instructions to bring up the meal from the kitchen, and she disappeared to carry out the order.

“Now that you’ve finished your painting what do you plan to do?” Timsh started.

“I am not entirely certain. The money you’ve given me is substantial, but hardly enough to rest on my laurels.”

“Does that mean you’ll be moving on to another patron?”

“I’m afraid so,” I said as regrettably as I could manage. “Unless, of course, you would be willing to continue funding my work.”

“Oh, but of course, my dear! I would be more than willing to continue supporting you so long as you continue to visit me. I presume you wish to make another painting? What will it be of I wonder? I would love to see your interpretation of a self-portrait.”

For all my countless renditions of portraits, landscapes, and still lives, I had never once turned a mirror on myself and painted what I saw there.

“That would be an interesting possibility.”

Melina returned bearing a pair of soup saucers. She tried pointedly not to look at Timsh as she set his portion down before him. I, on the other hand, received a meek but glum expression as she passed over to my side of the table.

My spoon stirred through the soup gently to cool it. I wondered if I should invite her into our coven. She was exactly the sort of woman, unhappy with what life had handed her, who would make a good witch. I couldn’t ask her so long as I was still using Timsh for his money. He would be suspicious of his maidservant’s sudden disappearance. Once we set out to leave however, I would pursue the issue further. In the meantime, she vanished through the door to the kitchens again.

“If I might make a suggestion,” spoke Timsh, “I have recently purchased a whaling ship of my very own. It was quite expensive. One of Sokolov’s newest designs, you see. I don’t suppose you still keep in touch with him?”

“No. We had a… falling out. I haven’t been in contact with him since I set out on my journey around the Isles.”

“I see. This new design was unveiled only earlier this year. Say what you will about the man himself, but you must admit he is quite the prolific inventor. Why, I’ve been petitioning the City Watch to install one of his Walls of Light at the entrance of the Legal District, to keep the rabble out, you understand. So far, they’ve denied my requests, but I know they’ll listen eventually.

“What is a Wall of Light, if I might ask?”

“You don’t know? Oh, of course you don’t. He must have started work on them while you were traveling. To sum it up, they are a sort of checkpoint that fires a bolt of electricity at anyone who tries to walk through the with proper clearance. It’s powerful enough to knock a full grown man out cold for hours. Or reduce them to ashes if the settings are turned up, I suppose. He also developed a similar device known as the Arc Pylon shortly after. The Watch has found them invaluable for setting up controlled perimeters. If only they would understand the necessity of having on here in the Legal DIstrict.”

I felt my heart sink. I recalled and Anton who had fire brimming in his eyes when he told me of his goal to use his genius to protect humanity from a Pandyssian disaster. Where did an invention that could kill in an instant fit into that?

But then, I’d been apart from him for a few years. He could very well have changed, and not for the better.

“What was I going to say again?” bumbled Timsh. “Oh, yes. The ship. I planned to accompany it for a maiden voyage on the morrow. If you’d join me once again, I would be happy to have you along.”

As he spoke, Melina returned to the dining room to remove our soup bowls and replace them with a main course of roasted whale meat and boiled vegetables.

I thought about his offer for a moment. “How far are you planning to go?”

“Down the river and out to sea. We’ll head part of the way to Whitecliff and back. So, what do you say?”

Melina stood behind Timsh, having just replaced his dish. She shook her head in my direction subtly but visibly. But it wasn't as if there was any good reason for me to turn down his offer.

“At what time?”

“Our plans are to depart at nine o’clock from the Legal District waterfront.”

“I will arrive promptly.”

Timsh reclined in his chair. Melina slunk out of the room without a sound.

“Wonderful. We’ll have food brought on board for breakfast and lunch. If this weather holds, we can even enjoy it on deck.”

“What is the name of the ship, in case I need to find it?”

“I highly suspect no one else possesses the funding to own such a state-of-the-art vessel, even he in the Legal District,” he chuckled. “Regardless, in truth I haven’t named her yet.”

“Perhaps you’ll think of something during the trip.”

“Perhaps.”

From there, the conversation turned into a yawn-inducing recital of the details of Timsh’s latest business venture. It had turned out in his favor, naturally. I endured the tale with an occasional nod to show I was listening. I was far more interested in what dessert was going to be, and once that was finished I could hardly wait for the dishes to be taken away.

Finally, the table was cleared, after the sun had long gone.

“I’m afraid I must be on my way now. It’s been a pleasure, Timsh.”

“Please, call me Arnold.”

“Very well... It’s been a pleasure Arnold. I will meet you at the waterfront tomorrow. For now, though, I must return to the comfort of my bed.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Have a safe journey home, my dear.”

I swiftly took the invitation and turned to leave.

“Delilah,” he called. “If I might say so, I think you would look even lovelier if you grew your hair out.”

I didn’t reply to the statement. My hair was exactly the length a preferred it at, whether it offended his aristocratic sensibilities or not. There was no way that this feeble man could force me into doing his bidding.

***

Timsh had been temporarily called away by the captain to discuss something pertaining to whale oil taxation. Fortunately, he hadn’t asked that I come with him.

Unfortunately, I had been beset upon in the meantime by a sailor who had introduced himself as Herman and seemed quite determined to impart on me every minute detail that he knew about whaling.

“Why, back when I started as a mere deckhand, we sailed about in rickety old boats, nothing like this. We didn’t have anything like that harpoon gun there. No. In fact, we had to the harpoons by hand. Those harpooners had to be sure shots, the lot of them. When they did catch the whale, we didn’t have any fancy winches to pull them back in. Harpooning a whale meant going for a wild ride. Lost more than a couple men that way. Only when the beast got thoroughly spent and tired did we get a chance to kill ‘em and pull ‘em in. Then all this new technology business starts rearing its head, and the butchers back on dry land start whining about how they want their whales alive to get more oil out of the beasts. Easy for them to say. They don’t have to make the entire home journey back with a full-grown Leviathan hanging over their heads! Why, did you know that the first sailess whaling ships were wont ti capsize whenever a Leviathan put up a struggle? Ships have been getting bigger and bigger since then, and there are less accidents. Still, I miss the days of actual sailing ships. These new vessels may be state of the art, but they sure lost something of the adventure of it. I remember all those stormy night when I was on lookout for the beasts, pouring rain, numb fingers. You can’t find a thrill like that out at sea any more. I don’t even recognize the work I do now. Everything is done with that beast of an engine now, but I’ll always miss the sails. Funny thing most civilians like you don’t know about sails is that--”

At long last, I lost my patience.

“Herman. You have a treasure trove of knowledge about whaling. Anyone can see that. But nobody actually wants to hear you prattle on and on about it to no effect. I can’t even begin to express how exceedingly dull it is.”

We stared at each other. I wondered what he would do next.

“My apologies, my lady. I should have known better than to bore you with such important details of my life. Perhaps instead, you’d be more interested about the time me and my crewmates hoisted a mighty bull from the depths. We took to it right there, hunting after the mystical fluids hidden deep inside its girth. Finally, to our satisfaction, we brought it out. The whale oil ran warm and milky white--”

“That I want to hear even less about!”

I doubted that there would ever be a time that I would be truly happy to see Timsh. It came close enough right at that moment as the Barrister shooed away the loquacious whaler.

“I apologize for my momentary absence, my dear. The captain is quite particular about his work, you see. I trust you are enjoying the journey so far?”

“For the most part,” I said glancing over to where the sailor had wandered off to. “The ocean is beautiful. I always enjoyed watching it during my voyages between the Isles from time to time. Something about the open sea is just so deep and mysterious.”

“Much like a woman. Beautiful, mysterious, turbulent, it may be, but it also can be conquered.”

I gave him a raised eyebrow. “The sea isn’t anything like a woman. It’s a shifting, unknown expanse, more akin to the Void than anything else. As to conquering it, I doubt that as well.”

Timsh spread his arms out, indicating at the ship beneath him. “So you say as you stand on one of the finest examples of the very vessels with which we are able to conquer it with.”

“I grant that Gristol’s navy may very well be the most impressive that the world has ever seen, but even it can’t cover every inch of the sea. Besides, ships merely sail on the water’s surface. You know nothing of what lies below it. How could you possibly claim to have conquered the sea?”

“Whales! Off the port bow!” somebody cried.

“What convenient timing,” said Timsh. “You’re about to see the power of Sokolov’s newest design. Tell me if you believe the seas still can’t be conquered after this is through.”

I approached the port side. Sure enough, there in the distance over the bulwarks was a pod of whales, surfacing and submerging repeatedly. Enormous plumes of sea spray shot up into the air as they tried to fill their lungs sufficiently to make a dive into the safety of the deep.

The ship turned after them far more sharply than a vessel of its bulk should have been able to. Water parted from the prow as if sliced into the swells like a mighty butcher’s knife. The crew member manning the harpoon gun trained its aim on the nearest of the whales. It fired, and flew over the waves directly at its target, a length of cable slithering behind. The harpoon embedded itself in the Leviathan’s side, just a few feet away from its fluke.

The sea beast writhed and bellowed. The danger apparent, the rest of the pod dove one by one. Though it attempted to join them, the thick cable prevented any hope it had of joining with its fellows.

A mechanical whirring indicated that the winch housed somewhere beneath in the ship’s bowels had started up. The cable connecting it to the harpoon pulled taught. Steadily the whale was dragged backwards through the water. It roared every bit as loudly as the ship’s rumbling engine. Leviathans were truly powerful creatures, but these machines were even stronger. Its fluke disappeared beneath the hull, into the cavity beneath us.

Behind me, the doors in the deck opened downward, revealing the struggling whale once again. In just a moment, its body would be pierced a dozen more times with hooks, and the Leviathan would be hoisted up into the restraining structures above. Then it would be returned to some slaughterhouse in Dunwall where it would be cut open and drained of its oil while it still lived until its own bulk inevitably crushed its internal organs.

As I gazed into the whirling golden eye of the beast, I couldn’t help but suspect that it knew that fate as well.

The cable passed in front of me slowly, winding around the unseen winch. I caught a section that was ever so slightly brown with rust. I wondered. Even with the damage, the cable was thick. On the other hand, my darts were powerful. They were also dark in color and could easily be missed on the backdrop of the stirring ocean beneath them. The clamor of whale, water and engine could easily disguise their distinct sound.

No one was watching. I aimed. I sent them.

They cut into the cable just at the spot of rust. Several of the metal threads split on one side, but the others held tight. The whale’s sheer physical strength did the rest of the work. With a heave forward, the rest of the cable snapped in two. Something in the whale’s howling changed pitch, and with a single flash of its fluke, the Leviathan plunged into the deep and was seen no more.

What was down there, in the inky blackness? Why would a whale dive to such depths? To avoid humans? To hunt? What did whales eat? I thought back to the strange array of scars about the maw and head of the deceased whale I had once had the opportunity to study. That begged another question.

What did a whale need five rows of teeth for?

The trailing end of the broken cable disappeared beneath the waves.

I was brought back to the present moment by the shouting of the crew.

“What went wrong? We almost had it!”

“And this ship’s new as a suckling babe as well!”

“Let’s take her back to Dunwall. Have a mechanic look at her. Sokolov even, maybe. See if he can figure out what happened.”

***

As soon as the ship docked, I departed. If they really were to summon Anton, then it was best I vacate the area as soon as possible. I couldn’t handle the thought of having to confront him after everything that happened. What would he say? He would probably be furious that I left without saying goodbye.

All in all, it would probably be easier to hate him than to face him.  After all, this was a man who had developed that inescapable piece of machinery, and those Walls of Light Timsh had told me about. By allowing the Empire’s greatest source of energy to be hunted into ever more rarity he was bringing Dunwall ever closer to its destruction. He knew that. And yet, he still continued in the path of savage industrialization. Couldn’t he see that his efforts to save the Isles from some far-off Pandyssian threat were bringing us closer to a disaster of its own?

No, it would just simply be easier to oppose him and hate him.

I ducked into an alley off from the main road, looking for a place deserted enough to safely blink onto the rooftops. A connecting street turned off halfway through. I took it, hoping to find shadows, but came upon the wrinkles of a familiar face instead.

“So lovely to see you back in Dunwall, dearie. Why, it’s been such a long time! Your Granny missed you, you know.”

My fists clenched with the shock of the meeting. How was it that this woman could find me? I made certain that my face was stony before I spoke.

“If you’re here thinking that I will steal that painting, you’re sorely mistaken. I will not do what you ask. Now, begone.”

“Is that any way to talk to you dear, sweet Granny?”

“Don’t think you can manipulate me by playing the part of the kindly old women. You are not my grandmother, and there is nothing sweet and gentle about you. Frankly, you’re not even good at pretending to be so.”

The mad witch chuckled. “Such a biting tongue. You remind me of myself in my younger days. So aloof. You should have seen the way I turned down my suitors. Even when I told them no many times, they still had that gleam in their eyes. So persistent they were! They were absolutely enchanted by me, just like Timsh is enchanted by you. They came to me with so many gifts of money and power, but I didn’t want any of them. Not even the Emperor himself! No, in the end it was the simple linguist who offered to take me to Pandyssia that won my hand.”

Something clicked at that. “You… Vera Moray?”

“How very clever. You are the first to have figured it out. People look with their eyes, not their minds. Who would ever expect sweet old Granny to have once been the darling of high society?”

“Going to Pandyssia drove you mad, didn’t it? When you came back, nothing was the same. You were the one who killed your husband, weren't you?”

She smiled. “I liked him fair enough while we were married. Then I met another in the ruined temples of the continent. The dark-eyed one. He spoke to my heart in a way none had before. I knew it immediately. This was my true husband! I had to make room for him in my life. My flesh-and-blood husband was a good man, but he had to go. I couldn’t let him get in the way of my true love.”

“You’re insane. The Outsider may look like a man, but he’s not. He is like the forces of the Void given will and consciousness. You can’t marry chaos incarnate.”

“Can’t I? He gave me his Mark. If that isn’t his version of a wedding ring, then I don’t know what is. We are co-wives, you and I. What do you think to gain by denying it? I see how you hide it beneath that deathly pallor you wear. Know that the longer you deny it, the stronger it becomes until it will gobble you up entirely! Free yourself of your constraints! Unleash your will and desires upon the world! Give in to it! Only then will you know true freedom as I do!”

Her words echoed in the confines of the alley. Just beneath the surface, I could sense something there, something powerful, giving them a more than natural reverberation. She was drawing directly from the Void itself to place an uncanny resonance into her words. It twisted reality, subtly altering the straight lines of the buildings so they appeared almost concave. With every syllable she uttered, I felt the words pounding on me, just shy of physical blows. This witch was trying to wrestle me into her clutches, just as I had wrapped Fyodor and Timsh’s hearts with my thorns and brought them into my will. To anyone else, that would be the end of it. They would be helpless but to obey such a supernatural ensnarement.

But I was a witch, and I could fight back.

Almost as if lifting a heavy object, I forced the oppressive veil off from over me. I hadn’t even felt it being lowered until I tore it away. Now was time to fight back with words of my own.

“Free? Do you really believe that? You’re nothing but a madwoman forced to live on the streets and scavenge through the garbage just to survive! You have no real power. You’re far too gone for that. What have you ever accomplished like this? Manipulating some misguided fool into performing some pointlessly heretical ritual? For what? Your amusement? What do you even get in return? A longer life? To what end? It’s clear you just survive, day after day without any reason to go on. Look at me. In a few short years, I have used my witchcraft to save over a dozen women from lives of misery and abuse. I have touched the world. What have you ever really accomplished in all your decades of bearing the Mark? I am a far better witch than you shall ever be, and I have the means to prove it. I have stood strong against the cruelties of this world, and I can do even more. We will not only stand together to protect our own, but we will use our power as witches to change this world into a better place for not only ourselves, but everyone else who suffers as we do!”

The contours of the alley way had righted themselves again. The mad witch stood unmoved before me.

“Is that what you think?” she said calmly, and blinked away.

I was left with heat of my passionate speech still on my lips. My words had stirred my own heart, even though I was uncertain where I had found the fire to speak them. Through well-paced blinks, I returned as swiftly as possible to the rest of the coven. I wished to tell my sisters of my new found determination while the passion still beat strongly within me.


	13. Chapter 13

“That sounds like an excellent start to me, Delilah, but I’m afraid we’ll need something more than an anonymously published pamphlet to make our voices heard. We’ll need to make political allies,” said Brunhilde.

“In theory, you’d be right. In practice, however, that poses many problems," I responded. "Parliament is filled to the brim with boorish old men. We’d have to bring the majority of them to our side, and I can’t ever see that happening. Any given one of them is more likely to write us off as being hysterical than lend us an ear."

“Then we should concentrate our efforts on the Empress.”

I should have known she would suggest that. It was the obvious answer. Still, my heart sank at the thought. I didn’t want to go back to Dunwall Tower. I couldn’t.

“She’s been Empress for years and has never once shown any signs of governing the Isles in any manner other than how it was run by her father before her. Do you think all this industrialization isn’t at least in part her doing? I can’t picture her being particularly sympathetic to her cause.” It was a solid enough argument.

“Perhaps that is because no one has approached her with an alternative?”

“What do you mean?”

“I highly doubt that a woman about the same age as you bears a similar outlook to an aristocratic man in his late forties or fifties. No, the Empress is by far our best option,” she countered. “Why such resistance, Delilah?”

“I am not offering resistance. I am merely stating why we shouldn’t get our hopes too high about making her our ally.”

Perhaps it was a lie. I wasn’t exactly certain.

“This doesn't have to be so hard, Delilah. Just go to the Tower and request an audience. You bear the Mark. That makes you our leader, doesn’t it? So act like one,” Breanna asserted.

She entered the room with Isabelle and Sybil hanging on her wings. The three of them had been missing from the hideout at the appointed time of our meeting. We hadn’t been able to find them, but had decided to start anyway, hoping they would show up. As they came in and joined us, I heard a familiar humming around Breanna’s person.

“Where have three been?” I inquired. “We had to start the meeting without you.”

“We were out, getting this for you,” she said, and unearthed the rune from her pocket. “You can thank me once you use it to discover new powers of your own.”

I took it from her. “Where did you find this?”

Sybil made to speak next. She was one of the newer additions to our coven. We found her the month prior, being ‘persuaded’ to accompany a member of the Watch for the night. He died under mysterious circumstances. Situations like the ones we had rescued her and Brunhilde from were becoming depressingly familiar, especially here in Dunwall. It made my blood boil. Perhaps we could do something to change all that. But that was part of why I was standing before my sisters, wasn't it?

“A kind, old lady offered it to Isabelle and myself. She was a bit odd, but seemed to mean well. All we had to do was bring her one of Sokolov’s paintings in exchange.”

No. They hadn't.

“Breanna walked in on us discussing how best to recover it and offered to help. She told us that she had some familiarity with the layout of his house from experiences in her past life,” added Isabelle.

I shouldn’t have been upset by this. Sokolov was in opposition to our plans to save the Empire from destroying itself through its own mechanization. He made his own choices. I shouldn’t have felt sorry about it. I shouldn’t.

And Breanna. Had she been purposely trying to get under my skin? From her demeanor, it appeared she was in one of her testy moods again. I sighed. It was because of what she said in Tyvia wasn’t it? That she wanted to be powerful. Was this her way of showing that she could do whatever she wished, no matter whose toes it stepped on? I didn’t like it when Breanna acted like this. It was a far cry from the vivacious woman I had traveled the Isles with.

Had I made her that way?

No, guilt wasn’t due on my part. Breanna often spoke of making her own decisions. If she was deciding to be passive-aggressive it was because of her refusal to move on, not me.

“This woman you met, was she blind?”

“I think so. Her eyes were clouded over, at least,” Sybil answered.

“Listen, everyone. That woman is dangerous, whether she looks it or not. Don’t underestimate her. She is a mad witch who bears the Outsider’s Mark, just as I do.”

“Really?” asked Breanna. “I heard rumors of a woman while at the Golden Cat. She was known as Granny Rags. We all assumed she was crazy, but harmless. I thought that rune of hers was just a family treasure or a recent discovery that she was senile enough to relinquish. If I’d known she was a witch…”

I was glad to see Breanna acting more reasonably now that she saw the gravity of the situation.

“I’m afraid I made the mistake of upsetting her. I should have known better than to make an enemy of a witch. Fortunately for us, she is too far given to madness to cause us harme if we keep our wits about us. We are witches ourselves, after all.”

Breanna leaned against the wall, her brief moment of clarity lost again to aloofness.

“Back to the matter at hand, what I hope to accomplish will require from you a level of ambition that many of you probably have never expected from yourselves before. As women we surely all have been asked to remain quiet and not cause trouble at some point in our lives. Such an attitude will not serve us now. We are witches. We have power, remember that, and we can bring about this change if we want to. This likely means that we will have to be more selective with who we allow to join our coven. We must seek out those with the ambition necessary to see our goals come to fruition. Are you all prepared for the journey we are about to set off on?”

Murmurs of agreement flooded the room.

“We are with you all the way," said Brunhilde. Her eyes sparkled with something fierce passionate, and dare I say proud.

My words to Vera Moray had not been hollow. I felt moved to see all these women before me, formerly downtrodden and abused, now standing strong, united by my cause. Even those whose eyes had become clouded by Dunwall’s grimy shadows now moved with the hope I had given them. What was I feeling? Righteousness?

***

For all the earlier bombast I had felt, coming here had drained it all away.  What was I doing here? I knew the answer. Brunilde had asked me to come, for the sake of our sisters, for Dunwall, the Empire, and the whales who sang in the depths of the ocean. I couldn't say no to that.

But my legs wouldn’t move. I did not belong down there with Jessamine. She was the daughter of an Emperor and an Empress, beloved by many, born with every right to call Dunwall Tower her own. I wasn’t. It was unfair, but it was a truth that left me paralyzed.

Jessamine reclined in a chair in the southern gardens. She maintained an upright posture even in the midst of her relaxation. Even so, I knew that her dreams had secretly exhausted her. It was a farce we both shared. She only let her subjects see her strong side, just as I did with my sisters.

Corvo was there to handle Emily’s youthful energy in her place. They were caught up in a game of tag nearby, of which Corvo was only pretending to lose. Whatever rigorous training the Royal Protector had undergone, it had more than shown itself in his endurance. Even after all these years, he hadn’t grown distant, disinterested in Emily's continuous well-being. His devotion should have been charming, but to me, it seemed almost… wrong. Like it shouldn't be so.

Emily was going to grow up to be Empress, but with such a splendid childhood, I could only wonder if she would truly be ready for the cruelties of the world. The girl would live her fairytale life, never suffering for anything until the day that she sat on the throne. What then? Would her heart break at the sudden revelation that life was so very tragic? Such a spoiled child would make a weak ruler, wouldn’t she?

Then again, who was I to judge? She was Jessamine’s daughter, and I had to trust that she knew how to raise her properly. It’s easy to judge when one doesn’t realize what another was going through. That wasn't the case between me and Jessamine. She was the one person who might be able to fully understand what I was going through, and I was the same to her.

Unlike Sokolov, I couldn’t find any way to hate her for what she was. As many worlds apart as we were, we both stood helpless before the emptiness of the all-consuming Void over and over. However, I couldn’t say I pitied her, either.

Amidst their game, Emily had fallen, and clutched her knee in a child’s understanding of pain. Hardly anything compared to what I had felt. Nevertheless, Corvo took her up in his arms and she slumped against his chest. They exchanged a few unheard words. He brought her over to Jessamine’s side, where she reached over and stroked the child’s silken hair and murmured motherly things into her ear.

No, Jessamine wasn’t any more deserving of my scorn than my own poor mother.

Apparently that was enough to make Emily decide that her knee didn't hurt any more. Corvo set her down, and she immediately sprinted off in the opposite direction. The Royal protector followed.

Jessamine watched them go. I couldn’t tell what the look on her face was from this distance. Was she happy? Relaxed? Lost in thoughts of days gone by?

I found her looking up at the place where I was perched. Did she know I was there? She must have, but how?

In panic, I blinked away from my vantage point. Those eyes of hers would be too piercing to confront. I couldn’t speak with her. The past couldn’t be changed. I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I had no right to be here, whether I wanted to or not.

There were other ways to save Dunwall from itself. Easier ways, I thought with a heavy chest. I returned to our hideout to figure out what they were.

***

“Roses are truly amazing flowers,” I explained to Sybil. “All you need is a simple cutting, and they’ll grow from that alone.” It had nothing to do with furthering our plans, but it felt nice to return to the familiar soil all the same.

“I always associated them with aristocratic gardens. I thought they were delicate. I suppose that isn’t the case, is it?” she asked.

“Some specially bred varieties are quite fragile, but those are the ones propagated by the upper classes for display. Wild roses are some of the hardiest plants around. Why, this plant her grew from a cutting I took from a single rose growing between the cobblestones.”

“Growing wild among the cobblestones? That sounds rather like us, I must say,” said Brunhilde as she came over to join us.

I had converted a couple of old crates found in the basement of the apartment complex into flower boxes. Sybil had helped me carry them to the top floor and position them in front of the southern windows with coordinated blinking. In return, I had been sharing with her some of my knowledge of gardening. Teaching her relieved my tension from my attempt to speak with Jessamine the few days prior. Here, I was in my element, and felt a strong sense of control that I hadn’t back at the Tower.

“Perhaps they should be our symbols,” I suggested.

“That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” she responded. “Quite good timing on my part as well. You see I've decided there is something that I wish to give you.”

I examined the wooden spoon she held out to me. It was a lovely piece of work. The handle had been carved away into the shape of roses and leaves and garnished with white paint upon the former and a pleasant green paint upon the later. While it was beautiful, it was clearly too fragile to use. I wasn't quite certain what Brunhilde intended by offering it to me.

“A spoon? Is this somehow an attempt to make a jest about my surname?” I said, unpleasantly calling to mind Fyodor's degrading  insistence upon butchering my name.

“Hardly. There isn’t anything more or less comical about a spoon than about any other object. In fact, I find that it could be just as noble as any sword or crown.”

“In what manner?”

“Think about it. What do those other two symbolize?”

“The first would be a warrior, the second a king. Which makes them symbols of the upper classes, I would think. Power, nobility.”

“Yes, but whose power?”

“The nobility's. The one’s who can afford it.”

“In other words, their own power. Only one person may wear a crown or wield a sword. What would you say that a spoon such as this one would be used for?”

“To serve soup to-- Ah. I see what you’re saying.”

She nodded, with a grin spreading across her face. “This is a truly special piece, a family heirloom. It’s made out of basswood. Please take it. You deserve it.”

“That’s quite a thoughtful gesture, Brunhilde. I never would have thought of it on my own. Thank you. Roses are by far my favorite flowers.”

“As I can see from your project here. I must admit, I find them compelling as well. They may be beautiful, but they can also be quite dangerous. Both petals and thorns are essential to the flower in order to survive, of course. Just be careful not to grab it from the wrong end!”

“Of course not, dear Brunhilde.”

I ran my fingers across the dark brown earth where a fresh cutting had been planted. It was merely a thorny stem sticking out of the soil at this point, but with care, it would grow into a magnificent flowering bush, wild and free. Had I not taken it from where I found it growing on the side of the road, it would have inevitably have been trampled out of existence, like so many hopefully sprouting lives that budded within the city.

“Brunhilde, how is the draft of our pamphlet coming along?”

“Very well. There is so much pain in what some of our sisters have experienced. The words come from all our hearts. That is what will make its readers listen and understand us. Evie in particular has had much to say about the wording. Why, thanks to her, no one will suspect that it was written by a coven of witches, half of whom can’t even read, rather than graduates of the Academy of Natural Philosophy, if I dare so so myself.”

“Good. I believe I have come up with a title for our work. We should call it ‘The Blight of the Cobblestone’ after these roses.”

“That has a nice poetry to it,” she said. “In the meantime, have you thought more about going to see the Empress yet?”

“The time is not right,” I rejected. “We need to wait until the pamphlet is published and has been in circulation for some time. A flower takes time to bloom.”

She gazed at the bare earth and thorny stems of the flower bed. “So you must know well by this point.”

***

The day had turned lazy from want of things to do. Timsh was away for the time being, my roses had been watered, and most of mys sisters were out taking care of some errand or another.

As my mind wandered, I found myself curious as to what had become of the bakery. Shortly afterward, I stood at its doorstep. From the scent of pastries wafting from the building, I knew that it was doing business, even without me there. A part of me almost expected that the place would have been boarded up and abandoned after my disappearance, but it seemed the city had other plans. Life went on, whether or not I resisted that change.

It nevertheless struck me as a transgression.

With an internalized sigh, I pushed the door open and stepped in. Hardly anything had changed. The off-white stone tiles, the yellow and white stripes of the wallpaper, all exactly as I remembered. Even some of my older paintings adorned the walls. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t this. I wasn’t sure whether to feel at home in these surroundings, or utterly alienated by them.

A plump woman stood behind the counter. I didn’t recognize her face in the slightest. She muttered numbers to herself, using her fingers for reference. A school child’s manner of counting. Clearly no one had taught her proper arithmetic. Finally, she found the number she wanted, and looked up at me.

“Oh, hello there. What can I get for you?”

“Just one of those please,” I hastily answered, pointing in the direction of a plain-looking sweet bun.

“Anything else?”

“No, that will be all, thank you.”

As she pulled out the sweet bun in order to hand it to me. I decided that I might as well ask the question on the tip of my tongue.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I recall the last time I came by this bakery, it was being run by a mother and daughter pair. Are they still about?”

“You haven’t been by here in quite some time, then. Why, it's been three years since they owned the place!”

“Three years? Really?” The question was more than just rhetorical. I could hardly believe how long it had been. “It seems like only yesterday that I wandered in here and discovered the best sweet buns I’d ever tasted.”

“So some of the regulars have told me. They even said that the two of them used to work in Dunwall Tower for the old Emperor. It would certainly explain all the good things I’ve always heard about their pastries. It’s a shame I never got to meet them, much less try a sample. I’m told the motherly died suddenly, and that the daughter just up and vanished a few months later. She’s rumored to have jumped off Kaldwin’s Bridge in despair.”

“That’s… quite tragic.”

“Isn’t it? They never found the daughter’s body, though. For all anyone knows, she could still be alive. I’ve even had an older gentleman in here a few times asking after her. He might be an uncle or some other relative.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. He last showed up just a few days ago and asked to leave a letter for her. I’ve been keeping it upstairs, but I don’t have high hopes.”

“Well, I wish him luck anyway. thank you for the sweet bun.”

Once out the door and walking down a quiet, secluded street, I took a cautious glance around and blinked up to the rooftops. There, I turned around and headed right back the way I came. The woman’s loose tongue had unknowingly insisted that I see the contents of the letter.

I landed on the balcony and pried open its doors as slowly and quietly as possible. Inside, I crept forward, certain to place my feet only on the floorboards that I knew did not creak. My childhood games of walking only on the silent boards had paid off.

Unlike the shop space below, all of the furniture in the apartment had been either rearranged or outright replaced. It was a betrayal. My mother hadn’t died in this room. She had died in a different apartment altogether, somewhere far away and lost to time.

Such thoughts didn’t help me to find the letter. I discarded them and searched the place. It was being stored in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. The writing was indeed Sokolov’s.

_ D., _

_ I have left this letter here for you in the off chance that you may return and find it. Though you vanished without a trace quite some time ago, recent events have made it apparent that you are present in Dunwall at this moment. Rumors have spread like wildfire of an affair between as certain Mister T. and an individual bearing your name. I implore you to abandon the affair. T. is not an honest man, as I attempted to warn you of when you first met. _

_ Furthermore, I ask that you return to see me. Both J. and I miss you terribly, and were very distraught at your sudden disappearance. Please return to us. We both care about you deeply. _

_ A. _

I clutched the letter against my heart, and stood there for a while. I knew that once I pulled it away and shut it back in its drawer that I would have to return to trying to hate Sokolov, the greatest enemy to our cause. For the moment, however, it felt nice to just stand there.

In the silence this allowed, I heard the familiar song of a rune.

It was coming from the bathroom. I relinquished the letter neatly back into its drawer and silently approached the source of the humming. Behind the door was the eerie violet hue I had come to associate with shrines to the Outsider. The woman downstairs didn’t seem like the sort to have taken an interest in the dark arts, but there it was, a lovely carved rune, waiting on its pedestal. Try as she might to take over my home of over fifteen years, she could not have everything. Without the Mark, that rune was all but useless to her. I took it up, and awaited the Outsider’s inevitable appearance.

“Still searching for something in your past, Delilah? Is that why you’ve returned here? Why, when you have so much more you could do in this very moment? Not all who bear my Mark have the ambition that you do. Some are content to fade into the Void. Others flee from civilization and are forgotten by history. And you, Delilah? You want to change the very world you live in. Such grand desires are a truly rare breed. Will you succeed, I wonder? I suspect the talents that both you and the loyal followers of your coven possess will create many waves that will ripple throughout the fabric of this self-devouring Empire. Only time will tell. That is why I leave you with this Delilah: beware the man in red.”

***

“Who could have done it, I wonder?” Timsh droned on. “No one saw who stole the painting, and the investigators couldn’t find any clues as to how they did it. It seemed almost that the perpetrators had simply flown off, from all they could tell.”

My self portrait was almost completed. Only a few details remained to be filled in, and then it would be ready for a coat of varnish.

“Arnold, for my next project, I would very much like to make a sculpture. Do you think you could work out a decent deal with the Guild of Fine Arts for a good piece of marble?”

He jumped at the suggestion of my continued presence. “Absolutely, my dear. Do not trouble yourself with the cost of the materials, I will pay for all of it.”

“Thank you, Arnold. You’re so generous.” I flashed him an empty smile.

“I will set to it right away. I trust you will be comfortable here in the meantime?”

“Of course. So long as I may paint, I am satisfied.”

“When you complete your sculpture, I don’t suppose you would be willing to join me on my ship again. You wouldn’t believe what the problem turned out to be last time. A rusty cable of all things! Suffice to say that supplier will not be receiving any more of my business. Or anyone else’s.”

“Of course.” I didn't want to see another whale hunt, but I couldn’t turn him down, not if I wanted to keep him in good graces.

“Wonderful. I can hardly wait to see what you will bring out of the marble. You know, Delilah, I’ve decided to name the vessel after you. It only seems fitting.”

“I’ll need that marble before I can do anything more,” I reminded him.

He scurried off to complete my request. I was grateful for the solitude, at long last. Now, I could step back and admire my work in peace. What looked back into me were the dangerous eyes of a woman who ought to be feared and respected. She held the thorny vines to her mastery, grasping them as easily as an inoffensive length of yarn. At her behest they would send themselves forth into the world, snaking their way in between the tight alleys and intricate machinery of this industrialized city and force its citizens to see the wondrous display of nature in all its power and glory. Roses would bloom between the cobblestones, and by their thorns, those who came upon them would be forced to listen.

Yes, history would remember me, this woman so easily handling the thorns in the painting. When all was said and done, I would have done far more than the distressed Jessamine, or her inadequate, spoiled daughter who had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and had never known suffering. No. When she took the throne, I would be the true savior of this failing Empire. Between the weak-willed girl and myself, only one name would be remembered. Mine.

Words danced within my mind, and gripped by the passion of the moment, I took up a pen, and set it to paper. Something howled and sang. Black ink danced its way onto the virgin white of the parchment as I spelled out my poem.

I stared at the finished words. They had come out quite a bit… odder than I would have expected. Well, maybe only a bit. It was, after all, poetry. Strange phrasings and hidden meanings were commonplace. Nothing to spend too much time fretting over. It was merely a reflection of my desire to prove myself over Emily in both power and grace.

The poem I left amongst my supplies as I turned to leave for the day. I walked through an empty hall and descended that stairs. As I approached the ground floor, I could hear voices carrying from the lobby. One clearly belonged to Timsh. I suppose that meant the he hadn’t yet set out on the errand I asked of him. The other sounded like a woman.

“She’s just as much my grandmother as she is your mother. I have every right to pay her a visit.”

I strode to the banister to get a look at what was occurring below.

“She’s ill and abed. Please, give her the rest she deserves,” said Timsh.

“Why are you afraid to let me see her, even just for a moment?” said the woman. She wore neat clothing and had her hair arranged in a stylish manner. “Are you afraid I’ll see how poorly you’re caring for her? You want her to die, don’t you?”

“Don’t be absurd! I have no desire whatsoever to see her perish. I am giving her the best care possible.”

“That’s not what I heard from the previous doctor that you hired. Yes, I found him and spoke with him. He told me that you had refused to pay for import of the medicines she needed.”

“It was a Tyvian herb the likes of which I’ve never heard. Clearly, he was trying to give her poison in the guise of a cure. I couldn’t allow it. You would do well not to speak to that deceitful excuse for a doctor.”

“Why would he poison a dying woman? That’s ridiculous. No, you just desire to take the entire inheritance for yourself. Don’t pretend that this is about anything else.”

“Preposterous. That couldn’t be further from my intentions.”

“If that’s so, then let me see her and this will you claimed she left you.”

“I’ve told you time and time again that her condition is very fragile. She must not be disturbed by anyone but a medical professional. Please understand.”

“If you can’t do that, then at least show me the will. I must be certain that her wishes are being respected.”

“No. The amount of money represented is too valuable to be entrusted to the hands of one so young as you. I’m afraid it will have to remain under lock and key until the time of her passing.”

“Oh, uncle, you’re just--incorrigible! I bet you’re planning to give the fortune away to that tramp of yours!”

“She is hardly a tramp, young lady. In many regards, she is more ladylike than you, in fact.”

“She’s a  _ painter _ . She works with her hands. Why can’t you see just how far beneath us she is? Your affair is the scandal of the season. Don’t you realize just how utterly embarrassing this all is?”

“Enough, Thalia. I will hear no more out of you about Delilah or otherwise. We are done speaking.”

“This isn’t the last you’ll hear of this, uncle.”

She stormed out of the estate in a silent rage. When she had vanished from sight, I descended the final flight of stairs, above which Timsh’s portrait hung proudly.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“My niece, Thalia. She’s just a girl, but already quite the handful. I don’t suppose you heard any of that?”

“That I am a tramp and an embarrassment?”

“My apologies. Please don’t take her words to heart. She cannot appreciate the bond you and I share.”

I pursed my lips. “What about your mother? Was that part true?”

“Yes, I am sad to say. She has been bedridden for weeks. I do worry for her so.”


	14. Chapter 14

I plucked up the sample of the finished pamphlet my sisters had laid out before me and began reading.

Action is necessary if the Empire is to stand against the juggernaut of what is commonly called industrial progress. The momentum of this hungry beast requires equal vigor simply to halt its destructive advance. No action against the industrialization of our nation-states can be deemed too extreme when we understand what is at stake.

The advancement of industry infects every aspect of our lives, and hazardous conditions assault the citizens of Dunwall daily. Workers are treated as disposable cogs in the machine, sacrificing their lives in the name of fast construction, mass assembly and greater profits. Should those of us in opposition to these trends not sacrifice themselves in the fight against our unfeeling oppressor?

Will we be satisfied when our children ask what a pasture is, and the best we can do is point to a cobblestone street, black with the filth of mechanical production? Will we struggle in the coming years to recall a time when we actually made our pies by hand, or baked bread in the ways of our grandmothers?

What is at stake today are our very cultures, from the cold north of Tyvia down through Morley and Gristol, all the way to the warm south of Serkonos. All men and women with a love four our ways must stand against these changes.

“Brunhilde, you are quite the compelling writer.”

“Thank you, but much of what is in there came from our combined experiences. I was merely the scribe. Samantha in particular had a lot to say about the deplorable conditions in factories and the wellbeing of employees.”

“Take more credit for yourself, Brunhilde,” said Breanna. “I can read quite well, but couldn’t write half that elegantly if I tried.”

“I can hardly even read, much less write,” said Sybil. “It just looks like a bunch of arcane symbols to me. I don’t know how you and Delilah do it. It mystifies me.”

“If you’d like, I could teach you,” Brunhilde offered. “It isn’t precisely hard, but you must keep at it until you can instantly recognize all the symbols without having to think about it. Then, it is only a matter of reading enough to understand the flow of words and sentences on a page.”

“You can teach me to read? You really think I can?”

“Anyone can learn to read. I’ve taught several other of our sisters to read as well. Just ask Isabelle.”

The woman nodded with a smile across her chin. “Brunhilde is an excellent teacher.”

“I’d love to learn if you’d be willing to teach me! Oh, Brunhilde, you’re so sweet and kind. It shows in your words, too. When I was listening to you recite it, I noticed that you go out of the way not to blame anyone for the Empire's problems, just the faceless industrialization.”

“There is no good reason to vilify anyone. Potential sympathizers to our cause could come from any social class or nation. You must remember that you are dealing with humans just like yourselves. People are flawed, sometimes tragically so. However, there is no doubt in my mind that such rampant industrialization is detrimental to everyone, just as Delilah has explained. The whales are diminishing, and we cannot afford to ignore this problem, or risk bringing ourselves to ruin.”

“That, and only the literate are going to actually read it,” I added. “Which naturally means the upper classes.”

“Do you really think that the aristocrats will listen to us?” asked Emma.

“Some might,” said Brunhilde. “Others will have made their fortune only thanks to the very machines that we seek to oppose.”

“Those ones are going to be our largest competition,” I proclaimed. “As long as the pamphlet makes our voices heard, then we will have adequately prepared ourselves for further steps. We will have some anonymous scholars to back us up, or at least appear to. It will lend credibility to our movement, even if some seek to deride it. But that is a future problem. We must see to its publication and distribution first.”

“This is where I come in,” said Evie. “My former husband had a heavy hand in Driscol’s largest publishing company. I learned a number of things about the trade from it. At least the old dog was good for something.”

She grasped several copies of the drafts and headed off, blinking away onto a rooftop in search of a willing publisher. Or perhaps she would manipulate the owners or workers into doing the task for her in some other way.

Brunhilde broke the silence. “In the mean time, let us discuss what our next move should be. Delilah, might I ask you to set up a meeting with the Empress again?”

Here it was. The matter was bound to come up sooner or later, bringing all the twisting memories of special little Emily held tightly in Corvo’s obscenely gentle arms along with it. It sickened me to think of her and everything that she so clearly did not deserve.

“Patience, Brunhilde. We need to give the pamphlet enough time to circulate. Let us wait until we begin to hear of it being spoken about at court. Not to mention we still have yet to figure out who this ‘man in red’ is. Have those of you who have been observing the army uncovered any new leads?”

One shook her head. “The army is too large. There are hundreds of officers who have been issued red uniforms.”

“If I may be honest, I think we’re barking up the wrong tree. The army disciplines its members into acting as a cohesive unit. Even if some officer in red did come after us with their troops in tow, it would only be on somebody else’s orders. The Outsider said the  _ man _ in red, didn’t he? Shouldn’t we be searching for a particular individual?”

“True. That leaves us with only the High Overseer as a suspect. Fortunately, he has proven himself to be easily manipulated. If he is the one the Outsider meant, then dealing with him should not prove a problem.”

All this while, Brunhilde had been watching me closely. “Delilah, I wouldn’t concern myself too heavily with the Outsider’s words. How much do you know of him, really? His thoughts and motivations are unknown to you. What if he intends to trick you, or is even outright lying? Just because he granted you your powers doesn’t mean he can be trusted.”

I ran a hand over the slicked-back strands of my hair. There was something about his warning that I couldn’t ignore, that I knew to be true deep in my heart. There was no sense in arguing with Brunhilde, however. Her motherliness would enable her to win the argument before it even started.

“There is a possibility for gaining quite a large sum of money from Timsh. More than anything we’ve seen from him yet,” I stated instead.

She leaned back to listen.

“Timsh’s mother is deathly ill. It’s quite clear that he has no intentions of giving her proper medical attention. He’s taking this as an opportunity to write her will in his favor. If I could convince him otherwise, we could certainly make much better use of the inheritance than he ever would.”

Brunhilde scowled. “So our cause will be funded by stealing from a dying woman and her family?”

“Who cares about their family?” said Breanna. “Timsh is one of the very people that has made his fortune off of all the misery Dunwall has to offer, and his kin are no better. A lot of us can’t even relate to our own spouses, parents, and siblings. Why should we feel sad for his? If anything, taking the inheritance from him will weaken one of our future adversaries. Let’s take the money and be done with it.”

I noticed that Breanna was again quick to join in on the thieving, just as she had with Sokolov’s painting. At least this time, I could agree with her. It was a relief. I didn’t want to see her turn into an unscrupulous criminal. No, I wanted a bright and pure Breanna by my side. Would I ever get that back? No, it wasn’t a question to ask myself. Breanna was simply perturbed by having to live amongst the filth of Dunwall for so long. If our mission weren’t quite so critical, I would call for a change of scenery immediately. We would leave Dunwall for the fair embraces of the woodlands then she would laugh and dance along side me again.

***

“I would love you until the stars vanished from the sky if you could do this simple thing that I ask,” I whispered the drops of venom down into his ears. My thorns were wrapped tightly about his heart, and under their influence he would find my words as sweet as honey.

“That is quite a lot that you’ve asked of me.”

“It is but trivial in comparison with my boundless love. Follow me, and I will give you the very stars themselves, Arnold.”

Let him believe that. I had no intention of staying beyond when that will fell into my hands.

He stood before me, inner conflict dancing upon his face. While he clearly was attached to his fortune, I was willing to bet that he was even more attached to me by this point. In the end, my thorns won out over his greed.

“It is only your due, my love,” he said. “Wait here for a moment, and I will return to my office to make all the preparations. It shan’t take long, my sweet.”

To my satisfaction, he set off straight away down the stairs. I returned to my statue. I had made excellent progress on uncovering my figure from the marble block.

She stood nobly, a true champion every bit as heroic as the statues of Emperors and high-ranking state officials. Only, she had far more purpose driving her forward than any of them ever would. This was Delilah, ornamented with vines, standing proud in defense of everything natural and beautiful that the Empire unwitting sought to destroy. I was that woman, forever rendered in stone by my own hand.

It made me wonder. I could already send myself through paintings, but this piece of artwork was something different. It matched me perfectly in dimensions and physical appearance. Paintings were as easily opened as doors to me, but this? Only way to know was to try.

Instead of projecting myself through it, I concentrated on the statue and its semblance to me. With a deep breath, I sent my will flying forward, and immediately afterward found myself looking down upon my physical body through the statue’s eyes.

This was perfect. I would need to keep a steady eye on Timsh in the coming weeks as his mother wasted ever more into oblivion.

Satisfied, I released my projection. As I did so, it almost seemed as if the statue stiffened and lost some sort of lifelike bearing. What did that mean? Had I subtly been able to move the statue’s limbs through my magic? With a curious hand, I reached up and felt the marble. It remained as cold and solid as ever.

Magic was a strange creature. It proved yet again how little I understood of the extent of my projection, though I had years of experience.

Footsteps coming down the hall indicated that Timsh had returned. He held a paper aloft in one hand, as if it were a flag of victory.

“The task is done, my dear! The will now bears your name and yours alone. I have done exactly as you asked.”

“You’ve done well, my dearest Arnold. I knew you would grant me what I desired. Now nothing stands in the way of our eternal love.” Except my sudden disappearance from his life.

I reached out for the will slowly, savoring every moment of my victory over this weak-hearted, foolish old man.

He pulled it away and held it just out of my reach.

“Why, my dear, sweet Delilah, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you didn’t care a thing for me and were only after my money.”

“Do you have so little faith in me? I am not like any common woman whom you have ever met. Money is inconsequential to me. It is but a symbol of your devotion. Show me your heart, pure and true, and I will show you that I am more. So much more. Even if the moon and sun were to be lost from the sky, our love would remain. Trust in me, and give me what I seek.”

“I never once doubted you, my love.” He stepped closer, will pressed tightly against his chest, over his heart. “That is why I will do such things for you and you alone. We are in love, are we not? We must trust each other completely. I gave my trust to you. Now, you must give me yours in return. Come, my Delilah! Show me how much you love me!”

He extended his hand. It slid along my upper thigh and tried to find its way between my legs.

No.

“How dare you?!!” my voice boomed, no longer altogether human.

In an instant, all the candles in the hall were snuffed out by a foul, otherworldly wind. The geometry of the hallway distorted, creeping toward the wrong side of that which was physically possible, just as Granny Rags had done to the alleyway on the day of our second meeting. I did that and more. Shadows erupted from behind me. They spread their sickly length over the walls, windows, and doors, thick enough to shut out the light of day. Here we stood, encapsulated together. One predator, one sacrificial victim.  The edges of the chaotic mass of shadows stretched and writhed into horrible shapes, a cruel mockery of living forms. The thorny tendrils clawed at the floor just short of Timsh’s feet.  Timsh wheeled backwards with large clumsy strides. His eyes were pulled open wide, filled to the brim with sudden realization and sheer terror.

“My name is Delilah Copperspoon, and this is my power.”

I could almost see the man's hair growing visibly whiter as he cowered before me.

“Delilah, what’s happening to you? Your face… your eyes…”

“You should have shown me the proper respect. Now, as you see, you pay the price.”

“My lady! You’re absolutely correct! I was a disrespectful fool. I treated you like a common maidservant. It was wrong of me. You are so much more than that. I see that now.”

“Silence! Heed my words, Arnold Timsh. You shall retain the will in the safety of your possession until the time of your mother’s passing. My name shall remain the only recipient. You shall not alter this under any circumstances. When the time comes, go to the statue I shall leave you here in the studio, and call to me through it. I am able to look through its eyes. Know that, as such, I shall see your every action through it. If you even think about betraying me, I shall know. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, of course, my lady! I will do exactly as you say! I-- I didn’t mean to offend you! My lady Delilah, I love you! I… I’m…”

Timsh collapsed into a pathetic heap on the floor. He must have fainted.

I relinquished the shadows, so that the hallway was once again flooded with light and the impossible angles sprang back to their proper proportions. My feet settled to the floor. I hadn’t even realized that they had left. That done, I turned to leave through the upper floor’s balcony.

There I saw none other than Melina. She was keeled over, shivering on the floor. The poor thing must have come up from behind us and gotten a full taste of those shadows that I had summoned up from the Void. At least she had the constitution not to faint.

“What are you?” she whispered as I approached.

“If you had power such as this, to what purpose would you use it?” My voice still echoed faintly from the power I had called up.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“The forces of the Void flow through me, given by none other than the Outsider himself, whose Mark I bear.”

“The Outsider? You’re a witch.”

“Yes. A heretic, in the minds of the Overseers. What do you think? Am I a corrupter of society, or do I stand against its corruption?”

She looked at the crumpled Timsh.

“He wasn’t a good man. I’m sorry, I tried to warn you, but--”

“But he didn’t expect me to be a witch. Neither did you."

“If I’d known you had such power, I wouldn’t have needed to try and warn you off from him. I’m sorry I mistook you for another helpless woman.”

“Yet, you could have just left me to find out his true nature without even a word of warning. But you tried to take the noble path instead, though you still suffered in silence. There are many like you. Like me. You could be one of us.”

“Like you? You mean a witch?”

“That is exactly what I mean. Come with us, and you'll never be subservient again.” I grasped her by her quaking hand, and blinked past the balcony on to the adjacent rooftop much to her surprise. The art supplies could be left behind. I had absolutely no intention of returning for them.

***

Brunhilde entered the room to bring me tea and sandwiches. I had left Melina below to acquaint herself with the other sisters. She was still in quite a bit of shock.

“The task is complete,” I told Brunhilde, as she set the platter down beside me. “Money won’t be an issue for us any more. I convinced him to put my name in the will, and made certain that he wouldn’t betray me.”

“At what cost, I wonder?”

“Brunhilde, I am perfectly fine. I can handle myself.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? We’re all sisters. You don’t have to hide what you’re feeling from us.”

“Don’t worry about me. As I said, I am capable of handling myself. Why don’t you go and see how Melina is doing? I’d like to be alone.”

“As you wish.”

She left the room. I took a cup and poured myself some of the tea she has brought me. It was flat and musty, the best we could afford at the time, but it was comforting nonetheless. In silence I sipped it until another face appeared from around the door frame.

“Delilah?” asked Breanna. “Would you mind if spoke with you?”

“By all means, come in.”

I couldn’t remember the last time we had been alone together, without any of our sisters present. Not since returning from Yaro, I thought.  Could that be because of what had happened there? Had the events there so deeply affected her? No, I couldn't think those thoughts. That had been a long time ago. I was looking for patterns where there were none.

“Melina told me what happened,” she said and sat down. I lifted up the pot to pour some tea into the second cup and offered it to her, but she waved it away before I could do so.

“Nobody should be treated that way,” she continued. “Now you know how it feels.”

“Breanna, I’m not some weak child who needs to be coddled. I had the entire situation under control.”

“Sure you did. How did it make you feel, though?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Delilah, it’s always seemed to me that you’ve lived quite a nice life. As if you yourself never went through some of the things that many of our sisters here have gone through.”

“That is far from true. I have known suffering just as much as any of our sisters.”

“I’m not saying that you haven’t. I just wonder if you really understand where some of us are coming from sometimes. You’re like a breed apart from the rest of us. Sometimes I honestly can’t tell what you’re thinking or feeling.”

“I am your leader. Do you expect anything less?”

"It isn’t always such a good thing to play the part of the stoic gentlewoman, you know. I’m concerned what could happen if you keep all those emotions locked up inside of you. Then again, it’s as you say. You’re the leader, and the other sisters clearly do look up to you. Just don’t deny yourself to the point that despair gets the better of you.”

“Breanna?”

“I think Evie likes women.”

“What?”

“Do you know why she always goes about disparaging her former husband? He accused her of having relations with one of his secretaries. He called the Overseers on them, regardless of whether it was true or not. Evie was given a warning, and managed to run off in time. The secretary didn’t.”

“Is that really true?”

“If you want to know, you could certainly go and ask her yourself. She never confirmed that his allegations were true, but she never denied them either. I’d say that it’s worth a try.”

I couldn’t fathom why Breanna decided to tell me this. Evie was one of my sisters, yes, and we got along just fine. However, I had no more interest in her than that. It wasn’t Evie that I wanted. The lovely sable-haired woman he sat beside me was--I shook my head. This wasn’t the time to think of such things.

Someone blinked just beyond the doorway and burst into the room. Isabelle.

“Delilah, Breanna! Come quick! There are Overseers!”

We exchanged a quick glance and then followed Isabelle out of the room and down the stairs. Most of our sisters clung to the wall on one side of the room, gathered around two windows on the north wall. Something in the streets below had caught their unwavering attention. Even Melina was staring transfixed, apparently recovered enough from the events of the day to join them.

“What’s going on? What’s this about Overseers?”

“Emma and the others were coming back from a supply run, when they had the ill luck to come across those two down there,” said Brunhilde. “Something must have set them off, because they began playing their music boxes. See for yourself.”

I elbowed my way over to the window to get a better grasp of the situation. Sure enough, there in the streets below four of our sisters cowered at the mercy of two Overseers. One cranked away at the large music box fastened to his torso.

“Why are they just standing there? They should blink away!” cried on of our sisters.

“They can’t. That music that they’re playing neutralizes witchcraft,” answered another from off to my right.

“That means that we can’t use our magic to save them either.”

The room became silent enough that I could almost hear our minds racing to find a solution before things got even worse.

A sudden flash of bright red darted downwards, directly at the pair of Overseers below. My eyes snapped to it as I tried to determine what it was. A man, clad in a coat of bright red leather was simply falling through the air as if it didn’t matter to him the slightest that he was plummeting ever faster to the ground.

He landed directly on the Overseer bearing the music box. A glint of metal swung plunged into the back of his neck as he collapsed. In one swift, deadly moment, the target had been utterly silenced, the foul music droning out. Then the man simply stood up as if the fall had been nothing more than a stumble. Who was he?

My sisters immediately seized the opportunity, and blinked in unison to the safety of a nearby rooftop.  That left a single Overseer alone with the man who had fallen from the rooftop with all the care of a leaf in the breeze. The red-clad man seemed hardly fazed by their disappearance, as if he had seen it all before. The Overseer, on the other hand, jolted backwards in surprise. It was his last mistake.

The man clad in red simply dissolved and reformed himself right before the Overseer. A blink. No wonder he hadn't even batted an eye when my sisters did it. Instead, that lethal blade shot forward, and the Overseer’s head was neatly cleft from his shoulders.

“I can’t believe it,” gasped Melina. “It’s  _ him _ .”

“Who?”

“The Knife of Dunwall,” she whispered in a hushed tone. “The leader of the Whalers.”

“The legendary assassin? Here, before us?”

There could be no doubt of it.

_ Beware the man in red _ .

Daud.

From the power he had demonstrated, he was likely Marked, just as I. No wonder he had never been caught, never even been seen until it was too late.  Warning from the Outsider aside, his deadly potential was revealed to me in barely a few seconds.

I held my breath as he stepped over the corpse of the Overseer. He tilted his head upwards to the roof where my sisters were perched. What was he going to do?

To my surprise, Emma blinked down to street level before him. The other three followed. I held my breath even tighter, wondering what I could do if he lunged for one of them, but Daud made no move to harm them. In fact, it looked as if they were talking.

Then he strode a few steps down the boulevard before blinking to a rooftop himself. Far from letting him go and returning to the safety of our hideout, however, I watched the four sisters turn to follow him. He blinked to a yet higher location, and they copied that motion as well.

“What do they think they’re doing?” I said. “Everyone, stay here. I’m going after them.”


	15. Chapter 15

I followed just far enough behind so that they would not notice my presence. I had no intention of letting this man in red realize that I existed if I could help it. If the Outsider had seen fit to give my a warning about him, then it was best to remain unknown to him.

I had to find out what he wanted with my sisters, however.

They blinked across several streets before coming to a halt on the roof of a building overlooking an open square. Another figure materialized on the rooftop beside them. Like Daud, they wore a red leather coat, but they, perhaps wisely, had covered their face with some sort of industrial mask. Who was this person? Were there two people who I had to be aware of? I watched, and waited for answers to present themselves.

This new figure made a wide gesture toward the four witches who shared the rooftop with them. The second assassin's body language demanded just as many answers from Daud as I had. However, Daud seemed to be willing to answer his companion’s questions, at least. After some back and forth between the two, the masked assassin folded their arms, and blinked off to somewhere out of my view.

Daud turned to face my sisters, and said something to them. He gestured downward over the edge of the rooftop, at what was happening below. With a darting hand, he pointed at several objects of note, whatever they were. I didn’t dare try to get a better look. Doing so would have revealed myself to him or his masked associate.

Finished with his explanation, he rose, and vanished with a blink. Two of my sisters followed him. I did not see where they went. The other two blinked a moment afterwards, and reappeared on either side of the row of buildings. It clicked as I realized what they were doing. This particular square had four entrances. They were boxing somebody in. It wasn't a task for two people. No wonder he had seized the opportunity to bring my sisters along.

With a few strategic blinks of my own, I changed my vantage point so that I could see about three quarters of the square below without getting too close. There, standing about in the middle of the open space, were half a dozen Overseers. Two possessed music boxes and three were accompanied by wolfhounds. This was a serious. They were hunting for heretics. I hoped that Daud knew what he was doing.

I flinched at the cry of a gunshot. Where it came from eluded me, but it must have been a signal, because the two sisters I could see simultaneously blinked off the rooftops and down into their respective entrances to the square.

The hounds were already barking and howling by the time they reappeared on ground level, skin turned dark green. Half a second later, I saw the beginnings of a scream on the lips of the sister standing on the opposite end of the square. It unleashed, sending wolfhounds and Overseers tumbling to the ground before they could react.

Off to the side, a trio of Overseers who had not been in the way of the blast made after her. The were blindsided by the scream from another one of my sisters. At their collapse, two figures appeared above them. Daud and his companion. The two of them plunged their blades into the backs of the Overseers, one after the other. Meanwhile the others around them were regaining their footing. The assassins blinked away before any of them stood up fully.

Not a second too late, for a hound leapt through the space where they had just been standing. It landed somewhat clumsily on the cobblestones beyond. Its master came running up to it, directing it toward the sister responsible for knocking down the two dead Overseers. It bounded off in her direction, a second hound rushing to join it. She let the hound within a few bounds of her, and then blinked away, leaving it to stumble yet again onto the hard-edged cobblestones. It jerked in pain a second later, as if somebody had shot it, though I certainly didn’t hear a gunshot. With another jerk, one of its legs collapsed, and it fell helplessly to the ground. The other wolfhound assumed a defensive position. It was of no use. Whatever projectile was being fired evidently lodged itself in the hound’s skull. It collapsed instantly without even a twitch.

Back in the square, the Overseers bearing music boxes were having a hard time of getting themselves up due to the awkward devices strapped to their chests. A handful of Overseers were approaching in order to lend them a hand. I bit my lip. If they started playing their foul music, then it would be over for the sisters still on the ground. Why weren’t they blinking away?

Two streaks of red appeared in the middle of the crowd. They surged, blades plunging downward to execute the offending bearers of the music boxes.

The approaching Overseers jumped back and reached for their pistols. With a blink, Daud appeared behind one of them and slit his throat, then they vanished again.  Looking around for the next attack, the Overseers' attention focused on my sisters again. One of the Overseers gestured out, giving orders to strike at them. The remaining hound and master pair set off for one of the witches, and two ran after another. The one who gave the orders took to the third. All approached warily, knowing that Daud and his assassins could appear from anywhere. Likewise, my witches were just as dangerous.

In a surprising act of cleverness, the leader of the Overseers fetched a grenade from his belt and hurled it at my sister. It clunked to the ground in the empty space where she had been standing. The explosion rattled the cobblestones. When the smoke cleared, she returned to her post and her attacker was met with a barrage of her darts. He was far enough away to dodge out of the way in time.

In another corner, the two Overseers bearing down on my sister took a different approach. They stood side by side, guns trained on her. She responded swiftly with darts of her own. They went wild, catching only the foot of the one on the right. It was enough to topple him to the ground. His gun fired, but the bullets flew far away from my sister. The other Overseer fired seconds afterwards. He bore more luck. I saw my sister’s hands go for her thigh as she fell sideways. He drew closer, reloading his pistol. A blade plunged through him before he finished. Behind him stood the assassin in the mask.

One of my sisters blinked down to the injured witch and lent her a hand. With help, she was able to stand just enough to blink onto the safety of a rooftop. There, the other sister pulled off a strip of her clothing and set about to bandaging the wound with it.

When I turned back to where the leader was standing, I saw that he had taken a lesson from his compatriots, for he held his pistol out towards my sister. Not quite quickly enough, however. He was caught straight-on by her scream. The man landed on his back with an uncomfortable weight and didn't get up immediatly.

This was precisely the opportunity Daud had been looking for. He appeared above the fallen man. Almost lazily, he stepped over him and ended his life with one quick motion of the blade, down towards the neck held open and unprotected just beneath the cold metal mask. Then, with barely a motion, he was gone.

I saw him reassemble with all four of my sisters on the rooftops. Words were again exchanged, this time without any sign of his companion. Finally, he produced a satchel, and emptied it into his hand. He counted the coins quickly, and handed them over to the nearest of my sisters. So a job, was it?

I blinked, and when I opened my eyes again, Daud was gone. My sisters were blinking away from the scene of the crime. Two of them held the injured one between them, and the fourth blinked ahead, probably to serve as a scout. I rushed forward, striving to cut them off and demand answers now that they had left Daud behind.

Since they were slowed by our sister’s injury, it was easy to catch up. We met halfway back to our hideout.

“Delilah!” Emma cried in surprise as I appeared before her. She had been filling the role of the lookout.

“What precisely did you four think you were doing? Don’t you realize how dangerous that man is?”

She nodded. “I’m well aware of the stories, and from what I’ve seen, he certainly lives up to his reputation. That’s part of why we agreed to aid him. We hoped that if we cooperated with him, that he would be in our debt and wouldn’t have any reason to hurt us."

"I hope you're right. But tell me, who was the other one with him?"

"I didn't see her face, but from the sound of her voice, I could tell she was a woman. He called her Lurk.”

“A woman? That’s interesting. If he is willing to let a woman into his band of assassins, then I suppose he is at least capable of respecting us. But I must ask, how much did you tell him about us?”

“Only that we were witches.”

“I don’t suppose you gave him my name or told him of the Outsider’s warning?”

“No, of course not. We didn’t even introduce ourselves.”

“Good.”

“However, he did leave us with a threat. He said that he didn’t care if there was another band of practitioners of black magic in the city, as long as we didn’t cause him any trouble. If we did, well… the men he killed were trying to lure him into a trap by pretending to be regular clients. He said that’s how he dealt with traitors.”

“Then we should avoid him. He is the one that the Outsider’s warning refers to. I am sure of it.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too. We will do as you say, Delilah. It’s a good thing we followed him. Now we can be sure of the man in red’s identity. Not to mention, he paid us for the trouble.”

“A sellsword to the end.”

“Now that you’re not going to see Timsh any more, we need to keep making money for ourselves until we get our hands on that will.”

“That may not be entirely necessary. We are moving out of Dunwall to the countryside.”

“Delilah?”

“Daud and the Overseers may know our location thanks to today's events. It is not safe here. Besides, we have a cause now. It is time to return into the embraces of nature where we belong.”

***

He was large, twisted and red. I saw him peering out from behind every corner, looming in every shadow. He was never there when i turned to look, but still, I felt his breath along the back of my neck, whispering the Outsider’s words.

_ Beware the man in red _ .

I rolled my shoulders back. It was nothing. He didn’t have my name, and therefore he had no way of finding me.

Melina was paused in mid-fall. My shadows from that day in Timsh’s estate clung to her. Brunhilde stood nearby, eyes half-shut. Beyond her, Breanna remained still, simply staring at me, if not  _ into _ me.

It was just the four of us. Me, and these three echoes of my beloved sisters. Then, he was there with us, stalking slowly forward. Breanna was the nearest to him.

With a lurch in my stomach, I defensively summoned up my thorns. They responded from the dream-ground, and a briar burst forth and reached out to ensnare him. It coiled menacingly about his wrist. He was slowed by its drag, but showed no signs of pain. One leg stepped forward. Then the other. A blade glistened.

With clenched teeth, I summoned up more briars. They latched onto his legs and arms. He slowed down to an impossible crawl, but that only served to render him into a creeping, inescapable nightmare that not I nor my sisters could stop.

“Delilah!”

Brunhilde’s voice. I saw her standing over me.

“You were writhing in your sleep.”

“It was just a dream. I’m fine.”

“It certainly didn’t look that way to me. Having the Mark must weigh heavily on your mind. I understand.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“As you say.I think that you’ll be pleased to know that all of the sisters that were sent out to scout for a new hideout have returned.”

“Good. What have they found?”

“For the most part, just farmland and villages. Our initial impression of the forests around here was correct. They aren’t feasible to live in. There is simply too much logging occurring there. The villages aren’t any better. We didn't find abandoned buildings in any of them, but there was run-down mansion about a mile and a half away from one of them. However, I think our best bet is a series of caverns that Tilda--”

“Tell me more about the mansion.”

“From what I’m told, it was located upriver, along a tributary of the Wrenhaven. Whoever the previous owners where, they seemed to have enjoyed gardening greatly, but they haven’t been around for quite some time. The mansion is completely overgrown. It’s also currently playing host to a gang of violent criminals. I think we’d best look elsewhere.”

“I’ve heard of this place before. Brigmore Manor.” Memories of running through the gardens of my childhood flooded my mind. If I went there, would I find them again? “That’s where we’re headed,” I said decisively.

“Are you sure, Delilah? That gang could prove dangerous.”

“We’re witches, Brunhilde. We have nothing to fear from petty thugs.”

“It is still entirely possible that some of us will get injured, if not killed. Delilah, I have come to notice that our sisters have a tendency to accept your every word and action without question. Do you remember how no one spoke against you when you suggested that we take up a political agenda? It was not a light matter, and yet not a single one of our sisters dissented. I fear that most of them would do as you say without hesitation or self-preservation. This is a heavy responsibility on your part. I ask that you make your decisions carefully. They affect all of us.”

“Brunhilde, I thank you for your concern, but we must do this. I will not see us cowering like snakes in some musty cave. Brigmore Manor is surrounded by exquisite gardens. Don’t you see? They are a symbol of our cause. We will take it for our own, street gang, or no.”

“Very well, Delilah. I will put my faith in your judgement. After all, you are our leader, whether by choice or not.”

***

We crouched among the trees in silent preparation. Our swords were held at the ready. Convincing a blacksmith to make them for us had been the easy part. Waiting for the extensive order to be fulfilled had been much more difficult. While we awaited our armaments, we spent many weeks moving from place to place, so as to not give either Daud or the Overseers any chance to come upon us. Now that we were armed, that chaotic period was over, and it was time to take our new home.

A single lookout was stationed in the shed just outside the manor’s grounds. Given the overly large size of the windows, it was simple for my sisters to blink in and silence him. They wouldn’t know we were coming until it was too late. The mist wafting off of the river concealed us even further. We became as shadows, and effortlessly encircled the entrance to the manor.

At my signal, Isabelle and a dozen other sisters blinked away. They would travel along the cliff sides and conduct an assault from the back yard while we struck at the front.

I flexed my left hand. Under the pallor, I felt the spread of the hard, thick bark-like skin. On me, it wouldn’t show up, but my sisters had all darkened into a shade of swampy green in preparation.

My dark dreams had given me an idea, and now it was time to test it out in battle. Through the bars of the fence, I spotted one of the thugs walking over to a tree. Undoing his fly, he relieved himself on it. I focused on the forces of the Void flowing through me, and just as I had hoped, the Blood Briar surged forth from behind him. It took fast hold of him about the leg. With a blink and a slash of my blade later, he fell to the moist earth. Our assault had begun.

Before any of the other clueless thugs patrolling the yard could react, my sisters blinked into the yard alongside me. Fast as a flash flood, the area was overrun with screaming, dart-flinging, blinking witches.

The gang members hardly stood a chance. To my left and right, they fell, unable to even get near any of my sisters. One looked back and forth in panic at the sudden onslaught. He settled on me as a target, and rushed my way. I flung my darts at him, and his left leg was torn to shreds. A sister appeared above him and plunged a blade downward into his neck.

I surveyed the yard. It had been almost entirely routed. Now it was time to clear out the inside. I gestured to the witches nearest to me. They assembled behind me quickly, and I thought that I caught Breanna amongst them. She looked fierce and fully ready to prove herself. Of course, it was hard to tell through the thick green. I hoped it was her. It would feel good to have her behind my back, so that I could make sure she was safe.

The entry hall was a partially flooded mess. One step from the doorway sent us ankle deep into scummy water. Beyond, a pair of thugs were playing a game of Nancy. They jumped up at the sight of us, scattering their cards and wagered coins to aim at us with twin pistols. A sister took the initiative to blink beside them. They were perfectly lined up for her scream. One of them barely got a shot out just as he was tumbled to the side. The bullet slammed into a wall with a spray of sawdust and splinters just to my left.

From atop the staircase, a third thug was aiming his gun downwards. Quickly, I summoned up another Blood Briar behind him. It circled around the neck and dragged him choking to the floor.

Thinking this meant the top of the stairs was safe, I blinked up past the railing only to find the thug was still alive and kicking. Though the Blood Briar held him by the throat, he had kept a hold of his pistol. He lifted his arm and aimed straight for my head.

A blinking Breanna was there to kick the gun from his hand before he could pull the trigger. I turned swiftly upon him and sent a barrage of darts slamming into his chest. He gasped, contorted in pain, then spit out a mouth full of blood before becoming still.

“Be more careful, Delilah!” reprimanded Breanna. “You may be extremely smart and powerful, but don’t let that fool you into thinking you’re immortal.”

I ignored her fussing to decide upon my next move. The upper hallway we had found ourselves in stretched out in both directions, leading to either wing of the mansion. We would have to split up to cover the grounds properly. I took stock of the sisters standing behind me.

“You five, take the western corridor. Breanna, the rest of you and I will head this way.”

We set off in our designated directions. At the end of the hallway, a couple of thugs cowered behind the doorway for cover. They looked around the corner, pistols before them. Breanna sent them back to their hiding spots with a series of darts. Before the pair could begin aiming at us again, I blinked forth and swung my sword into the one on the right. Another sister was beside me in a moment to slice open the belly of the other.

The room we had entered was partially collapsed from age. A great section of the floorboards had given way, falling on to the ground below. Within the opening, I could see four gang members standing resolute in the ankle-deep water below. They almost seemed to be guarding something.

I saw behind them that the collapsed floorboards of this aging mansion formed a sort of ramp. If I were to guess, I’d say that beyond that ramp was either their leader, their spoils, or both. Certainly something worth guarding. This could all be over very quickly, as soon as we dispatched the lookouts. However, with so many, we had to do it all at once or risk injury, possibly even loss of our own.

A smile curled upon my lips. I turned to my sisters. “Do you remember how Daud killed that Overseer from above?”

They nodded.

“I hardly expect that you would be able to jump off a building and land like a cat, but you can do something similar. On the count of three, we blink above them with our swords pointed downward. We must do this all together. Understand?”

Silently, we positioned ourselves above the waiting heads of our prey. The one nearest to each sister was her target. Our swords pointed downward in preparation. None of the gang members showed any sign of moving, though they looked about warily, having heard the sounds of our struggle and knowing that somewhere an intruder was hiding.

“One… two… three…”

My feet slammed against my target’s chest. He fell backwards in a gasp of surprise. I severed his vocal chords a moment later, and blood seeped from the wound into the murky water covering the floor.

Finding my footing, I checked to see how successfully my sisters had dealt with the strike. All but one of them had swiftly dealt with the guards. The last had miscalculated and missed entirely. She quickly made up for this by shooting her darts up at the thug’s head. Several of them hit their mark satisfactorily. Now there was nothing between us and the imminent victory that awaited beyond the ramp.

We were greeted at first by an empty hallway. In days gone by, it must have played host to fine works of art and sculpture. Either side was marked by niches that would have emphasized the display of wealth all the more, but that time was long past.

At its end we stood on the balcony overlooking a noble, high-ceilinged room. No less than five thugs were waiting for us below, determined to protect the myriad of treasures they had accumulated over their years of thieving. Unfortunately for them, they were standing between several ambitious witches and the valuable objects that could help them achieve it.

Not to mention a manor encircled by the old Tower gardener’s masterful work. I had every right to call this place my home, and no petty criminals would stand in the way of that.

Before any of the thugs could act, and indeed, even before even I could, Breanna stepped forward. She had that look of fiery determination on her face once again. What did she intend to do now?

A Blood Briar burst from the floorboards. It grabbed the nearest gang member and flung him against the wall. It was truly a vision of power. Only, I hadn’t summoned it.

That look on Breanna’s face told me who had. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Only a few minutes earlier had used the Blood Briar for the first time. It had worked beautifully for me, but that was understandable. I bore the Mark. All my sisters’ magic flowed out from me, but none had quite the extent of the powers that I did. Even when I had granted them my gifts, it took some time for them to produce them even half as well as I could.

Yet Breanna had seen me perform this new power all of twice and now was capable of doing it herself just as easily as I was. Is this what she had meant when she said she desired to become the greatest witch she could be? Even better that myself?

No. Breanna had always been a quick learner. It wasn’t worth wallowing over. There was still a gang to eliminate from my new domain.

Of course, I wouldn’t allow myself to be outdone either. I summoned up a Blood Briar of my own. It grabbed an unlucky thug by the ankles and thrashed him about until his crumpled and broken body was finally laid to rest on the floor. Breanna’s briar had grasped another thug by the neck and held him aloft. He kicked futilely against the thorny vine, and it responded by swinging him about quickly. When it released him, his head hung at the incorrect angle from his body, and he was limp.

By now the remaining thugs had wisened up and backed far out of the reach of the two Briars. With only two remaining, we could have easily taken them. I had one more trick I wanted to attempt, however.

My Briar waved its tentacled mass in the direction of one of the gang members. The ground beneath the thorn grew dark, as if sucking the very energy of the room into the Void from which it was spawned. Under its influence, the man came steadily closer, heels dragging against the floor as he was being sucked in toward his doom. Though his partner grabbed hold of his arm, the Void’s embrace proved the stronger. The Blood Briar reached out purposefully. It curled tightly around the man’s wrist, holding him captive. I simply shot my dart at him, and he succumbed, unable to get away from the iron grip.

The gang member who had been flung against the wall had risen now, albeit slowly and painfully. Two were left. Breanna and I exchanged a competitive glance.

One fell to my blade, the other to hers. After the fact, no one was quite certain who had gotten there first. It didn’t matter to them. All they cared about was that we had come to our new home and taken it without any deaths to our own, and only a few minor injuries.

We had become the Brigmore Witches, but unlike the rest, I wasn't content with that. How was I supposed to protect my sisters from the Marked Daud if even the Markless Breanna could match me?


	16. Chapter 16

Perhaps it was due to the fact that I hadn’t opened its pages in more than a year, but I was finding the Metaphysika Mysterium to be significantly less useful than I remembered. Alas, it seemed the findings of an adventurous, yet still pious Overseer were notably limited. It wouldn't do. I had to be a better witch than Daud, and I had to be a better witch than Breanna.

I pondered the problem before me in the beautiful shade of the new back yard. My back yard. While the old gardener’s work was excellent even when he had to prune and trim back the flora into the shapes and spaces allotted for them, his work was allowed to truly shine when his plants were free to grow wild. The canopy of leaves was thick above me. Beneath, tangles of bushes played host to a thousand nooks and crannies. Where others might have felt trapped and hunted in these forested conditions, I was perfectly at home. I was the top predator here in my domain, and when the mist rolled in from the river, it gave life to all my unspoken secrets.

After we had cleared the bodies out from Brigmore Manor, I had suggested setting up traps to defend it. Tripwires covered all the holes and vulnerabilities of the manor. Since my sisters preferred blinking to walking, avoiding them was not an issue, but pity the intruder bound to his two feet.

Still, that wasn’t quite enough. Not against a man bearing the Mark, certainly. Other than patrols, we had little defense in that regard. There were only so many of us spread about this massive mansion. My sisters couldn't be everywhere at once. What we needed more of was eyes.

Could I use projection to make up for it? I had grown quite adept at sorting out multiple sensations from each of my projections. That might work.

I would need some way to render the projections stable, however, while I was not paying full attention. A vessel, a physical representation of myself, perhaps. Was my success at projecting into the statue of myself back at Timsh's manor the answer? It was wellworth a try.

Besides, it would occupy my time. Brunhilde had started up again about meeting with Jessamine. It still wasn’t time. I still didn’t belong there.

Before I could find someone to head in to Dunwall and have some marble blocks delivered, Melina found me. She hurried across the garden with swift but clumsy blinks.

“Delilah, what was it you did back at Timsh’s estate?” she asked when she appeared at my side.

“What do you mean?”

“Those shadows you summoned. How were you able to do that?”

“I am not entirely certain. I was angered by Timsh’s insolence, and wanted to show him how foolish he was to have offended me.”

“Does that mean it's brought on by powerful emotions?”

“No. I believe it is usable by anyone who has the right to it. Such as with my Mark or your loyalty to me.”

“Oh. Then do you think I might be able to use a Blood Briar some day? Breanna has been trying to teach me how to do it, but I’ve had no luck. She taught some of the others, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t do the same. I thought that I might ask you, since you’re clearly the most powerful among us.”

At least Melina had her facts straight.

“It's much like speaking. You don’t know how you do it, you merely say the words. Perhaps there are some types of magic that you simply can not perform, just as none of you are able to project. I was given the Mark by the Outsider. What powers other possess is not for me to say.”

“Of course, my lady Delilah. You are so wise and learned. That is why you are the greatest of us all.”

My lady Delilah? That was new. But I liked the sound of it.

“Let me tell you a secret,” she continued. “When you first took me away from my job and my entire life up until that point, I was terrified. I planned to run away as soon as no one was looking and turn you in to the Overseers. But once I saw how kind everyone was, and how powerful you were, I started to think otherwise. Joining your coven was the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if my family showed up on the step of the manor looking for me, I wouldn’t rejoin them. Not that they aren’t loving people, but the Brigmore WItches are my family now.”

Her words fell from her lips as if she had been enchanted to say them. I wasn’t certain what to make of her confession, but there was marble to be bought, so I turned the conversation to that instead.

“Melina, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to perform a task for me? I plan to create several statues to serve as lookouts for Brigmore Manor, and I require some marble blocks to do so.”

“I see. You’ll keep watch through them like you can with the statue you left at Timsh’s estate. You’re so clever, Delilah!”

“Yes, that is precisely what I intend to do. What I need you to do is go to Dunwall and arrange to have, say, five blocks delivered partway up river. Go to the docks and look for the ships coming from Serkonos. That is where the best marble in the Empire comes from. Unless you’re a member of the Guild of Fine Arts, dealing directly with the captain is the only way to get a good deal. It’s in the legally grey zone to do so, but this is by far the cheapest and least conspicuous way to do it. I trust you are up to the task.”

“Yes, my lady!”

“Good. Take a few sisters with you, and don’t bring attention to yourself. Now, go.”

She curtsied politely, then blinked off to commence with the task at hand.

The garden became quiet again. Even the running water was muffled within the thick mists. Strange. I was certain that they hadn’t been quite so thick before, when I first sat down in the garden to read. The air temperature had dropped as well. It was a subtle thing, but I could feel the nip of an unearthly chill in.

Shutting the book I rose from where I had sat and approached my planted roses through the murk. We had brought them here and transplanted them from the crates that had served as their beds into the surreal landscape of the Brigmore gardens. Far from concealing them in the tangles of undergrowth, it brought out their mysterious beauty. None of them were in bloom, but their lengths of vine-like stems laden with precious thorns possessed their own manner of powerful, deadly beauty. If only people could appreciate the plant in its entirety. All too often, they only wanted to see the flowers.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they? Just as you are, my little rose.”

I startled at the familiar, elderly voice. The one that I had heard twice and didn’t want to hear again. When I turned around, sure enough, there she was.

“Moray. What do you think you’re doing here? This is my territory, and you are not welcome here.”

“You’ve told all your sisters about me, haven’t you? They’ve been giving Granny the cold shoulder. How very inhospitable. Young ones these days. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“I think a mad witch hardly deserves my hospitality.”

“So must those ruffians have thought about you. Yet you came in anyway, and now they’re all dead,” she cackled.

“I am not mad, nor do I want to listen to your ravings. Leave me.”

“If I leave now, you will never have the power you seek. You want to defend your sisters against that assassin, don’t you?”

I stiffened. “What would you know about that?”

“Only that I have the means to help you. You want power, don’t you? You want to be a great witch, better than any of your sisters. Am I wrong?”

“I do bear the Mark. It is only right that I would be the most powerful among them.”

“Then you’ve finally come around to accept that Mark? Perhaps you really are worthy of what my dear husband has to offer you.”

“Don’t start with that again. You are not married to the Outsider, and neither am I.”

“Still a petulant child refusing to understand, I see. But this time, I do mean my dear departed husband of flesh and blood. He was quite the scholar. I dare say no one quite knew the language of the Pandyssians as he did.”

I lifted my head and looked her in the eye. Those Pandyssians once had a grand empire of their own, and in all likelihood, the magics to match. Their powers had been lost to time, and perhaps only the Empire's most famous linguist had been able to uncover them again. Now, my only source of that knowledge would be this mad witch. She was not to be trusted, but if she was offering what it sounded like, I couldn't afford to forego that knoweldge. If I knew those secrets, no one could stand between me and the greatness I deserved. I would be the witch I was always meant to be.

“What did they know?”

She smiled a twisted half-grin. “Many, many things, child. Why, even with all you’ve accomplished your magic is but child’s play compared to them. Imagine summoning up a storm at will, or slaying your enemy in his sleep from miles away.”

“Those things are possible?”

“Yes, and so much more. With your talent, you could do all those things if you were given the time to study it, sweet child.” She produced a book, leather bound and sea-stained. “Luckily for you, my husband recorded many of their rituals and secrets in this journal as we traveled about the Continent. I am willing to lend it to you until the time of your passing from this world, if you so wish. What do you say, dearie?”

“I’m much younger than you. You’re going to die long before I will.”

“No, my dear. Death is meaningless to me. No man has yet discovered the secret to killing me. Even if I were to die, I would simply return to the Void to meet my true husband once again.”

“Once again? You mean you haven’t seen him lately?”

“Sadly, no. The dark eyed one is busy with his own dark tasks, and hasn’t seen me in years. I still do his work. Some day he will speak to me again. Do tell him I miss him when you see him next.”

So it seemed that he didn’t care for all her talk of marriage any more than I did. While she was experienced in magic, no doubt, her madness had rendered her incompetent, and of little interest to the Outsider. Just as I had in that period during which I sailed around the Isles with Breanna, not leaving much of an impact, save my paintings, on whatever land I found myself in. That was the trap this woman had fallen into, and in her madness would never be able to crawl out of. I would take the journal. I saw no harm in it.

“Very well. I accept your offer. I will read the journal.”

I reached for it, but she pulled it back inside the confines of her coat. I was growing tired of egotistical fools trying to manipulate me.

“Everything demands a price, my love,” said the mad witch. “Haven’t you ever heard the story of Petals and Thorns?”

I vaguely recalled it. My mother had told it to me at least once, I was certain. The details were fuzzy, however. All I could remember was that a child had torn up an entire bed of roses. Given my love for the Tower’s gardens, I had hated that story. I couldn’t understand why the girl would do such a thing.

I sighed. Bedtime stories were unimportant to the situation at hand. The mad witch wanted something, and the sooner I figured out what that was, the sooner I would get my hands on that journal.

“What do you want in return?”

She considered for a moment. I waited in tired anticipation.

“Your spoon. The nice wooden one, with the roses carved into it.”

“Why in the world do you want a spoon?” I asked, dumbfounded.

She just laughed. I had to remind myself that this woman was quite mad. What she considered valuable was not necessarily consistent with reality. As far as prices went, she could have asked for something much more terrible.

“It’s a deal, then,” I said. “I will go and fetch it for you now.”

She raised her hand. “No need to trouble yourself, dearie. I already exchanged them as soon as you accepted. You’ll find the journal in its place when you return to your studio. Just as you desire, I shan’t bother you or your sisters again. You’ve done more than enough for me, but keep doing your part for the Outsider, my little rose.”

The the mad witch vanished not with a blink, but in a terrible twisting and rending of her frail body. I watched, transfixed in horror as the bent form of the elderly woman simply exploded into a swarm of rats before my very eyes. They landed on the soft earth with haunting shrieks and cries. All at once, they turned in the same direction and bounded away into the bushes, disappearing from sight just as gruesomely as they had appeared.

All was silent.

The mists weakened.

“Delilah!” Brunhilde’s voice broke the haunting calm. “What are you doing? Let go of that plant at once!”

I looked down. My left hand had was clutched around the rose bush that I had been inspecting when Moray found me. Blood dripped heartily from the myriad of puncture wounds in my palm. When had I grabbed hold of it? I hadn’t even felt the pain until I looked down at my hand. It came surging forth, like a wave. With a gasp, I pulled my hand back. Red rivulets of blood were smeared all over my palm, and blood pooled into the creases. Drops of red fell from the sides and were sucked up instantly by the greedy soil.

Brunhilde came over and inspected the wounds. There must have been at least a dozen of them.

“Brunhilde, I--”

“Oh, Delilah. You’ll need to wash out these wounds very thoroughly. Otherwise, they’ll surely fester.”

***

Preston Moray’s journal did indeed provide a wealth of information. I skimmed over his descriptions of new, exotic species of animals, and conjecture as to the daily life and social structure of the ancient Pandyssians. Though some of the descriptions for fascinating, such as his report of what appeared to be a land-going whale that sweat blood and had teeth as long as a man's forearm, it was not what I was looking for.  What I was really interested in was his translations of texts found in temples.

They were written in vague, poetic language that routinely stumped even one of the best linguists in the Isles, but Moray had provided multiple possible translations in order to make up for it. As I read and reread these translations, I began to wonder about my own ancestors here in Gristol. Occasionally, a report had come in from an archaeologist telling of a shockingly complex artifact discovered buried beneath some farmer’s field. Did those people know magic as well? To think, if they had, all of their knowledge had been wiped into oblivion by the Abbey’s heavy hand. If magic were combined with the advances of natural philosophy, who knows what the Empire would be capable of? I suppose that had been Anton’s wish.

Anton. What was he doing now? Still furthering the extent of human knowledge and sculpting and painting in the meantime? I imagined him, bereft of his favorite art student, withdrawing completely into his research. He had always had a misanthropic edge, but perhaps that had gotten the better of him in my absence.

No, that wasn’t quite true. He had a student in Jessamine as well.

I cleared my mind of the thoughts. Now was the time for reading, not worrying about two people whose lives no longer touched mine.

The pages currently before me spoke of ancient temple guardians. They were described as creatures in the shape of hounds, or lions or some other ferocious beast, formed not of flesh and blood but of the energies of the Void itself. What made them so effective was that their bodies could be formed from a physical representation of the beast that they were intended to mimic.

It was fascinating to imagine. A would-be thief crawls through the bowels of an ancient Pandyssian temple. The dim light from his lantern illuminates the depictions of snarling hounds across the walls. Before he knew it, they are more than carvings, growling and baring their all-too-real teeth. He would perhaps off one or two of them, but they reform moments later. Unbeknownst to him, the only way to truly stop them would be to destroy the carvings on the wall, and our unfortunate thief hadn’t had the foresight to bring a chisel.

Fortunately for the Morays, whatever magic that had sustained these creatures had long since faded from the temples of Pandyssia, otherwise they might never have returned to the Isles at all. The translations of this ritual provided only vague details, and were littered with lacunas, but there was just enough there for me to get an impression of how one might conduct it. Between what was left and my own experience with witchcraft, I could take back their ancient knowledge and invent it anew.

I had tailored the ritual to my own needs. The exterior of Brigmore Manor was wide and open, not like the snaking corridors beneath the temples of Pandyssia. A guardian tied to a single wall carving would not serve my purposes. Besides, soon enough I would have the statues to place strategically about the garden. Instead, I needed something more portable, and easily hidden within the undergrowth.

The floor about the wolfhound’s skull was emblazoned with a copy of one of Moray’s drawings. He had discovered its likeness carved into the floor of one of the temples. Descriptions he found nearby indicated its purpose in rituals. The object upon which the ritual depended need only be placed at the circle's center and the steps completed by one sensitive to the Void.

Once, I would have balked at the ritual I was attempting, just as I had all those years ago when Sokolov had brought me before that shrine to the Outsider. How times had changed. I was a powerful witch, and the Void bent to my command. It would not leave me wretching upon the filthy floor. This next ritual would only serve to prove how I was the master of the Void, not the other way around.

I stepped away from the circle. It was the moment of truth. With my will, I summoned up the forces of the Void and bequeathed them to fill the circle with their song.

The skull lifted lazily from the floor, guided by supernatural winds. A lean, muscled body formed from the back of the skull, limbs extending into all the same places to be a real living wolfhound save for the lack of skin.

The first temple guardian in perhaps two or even three millennia stood before me. It was more than just awe-inspiring. I was ingenious. No one in the world other than myself could have succeeded in recreating this ancient magic.

If I had done everything correctly, then the hound wouldn’t attack and obey any order from a Brigmore Witch. From the way it was standing there, I suspected that I had succeeded at that.

“Sit.”

It complied. So I had indeed. Now all that remained was to test out its disposition toward my sisters. As if on cue, Sybil appeared in the entrance to my studio, answering my need. She wore one of our new outfits. They were free from the constrictions of corsets, and many of my sisters were immediately infatuated by the openness of movement and foregoing them provided even if that led to slouching. I, of course, still wore mine. I need to appear as the straight-backed and well controlled leader of the coven. The flowers and vines that we had draped over ourselves, however, were perfectly suited to my own outfit. Roses of reds and blue, grown and sustained by my own hand emphasized my majesty.

We had no set costume, save for the inclusion of roses, though many of my sisters took to similar articles of clothing. Hats had been widely distributed. Presumably one of our number had been in the hat making trade before joining us, though with our ever-increasing numbers it was becoming harder to remember who was who.

Still, our clothes were hardly what one could describe as fashionable. We wore what we had, and given the remoteness of our location and the murkiness of the river water, wash days were few and far between. Though are clothes had once been nice and well-tailored, we appeared as savage parodies of noblewomen. Only I kept up my appearances, though that was a necessity for my position among the Brigmore Witches.

Understandably, Sybil jumped backwards upon laying eyes on the hound. “Delilah, what is that?”

“Our new watch dogs. It isn’t truly a hound, but a binding of the forces of the Void. It will obey us and only attack intruders. Go on, give it an order.”

“Uh... Roll over?”

Sure enough, the hound did. Not playfully as a true animal would, but it rolled over on to its back in a mechanical motion all the same.

“Good,” I said. “Now all that is left is to introduce these hounds to the others. Do gather them up, would you?”

“Yes, my lady. First, though, I came to tell you of news. Melina has sent word that she has purchased the marble blocks you asked for. They will be shipped up river within the week. Only, she also brings dark news. Do you recall that the disease that’s been running rampant through the poorer districts of Dunwall?"

"Not particularly. There's always some disease running around the slums." 

 "This one is worse.  They’re calling it a plague. It's turning people into mad creatures that start bleeding from the eyes. Dunwall might be put under quarantine.”

“Quarantine? Jess-- the Empress wouldn’t resort to such measures if she could help it. She is far too gentle and kind a person to do so, even if it's necessary.”

Sybil shrugged. “You know her better than I, then. From what Melina told me she’s searching like mad for the source and a cure. She even sent the Lord Protector on a diplomatic mission around the Isles to seek aid. In the meantime, the Royal Physician has developed an elixir that he claims will prevent one from catching the plague.”

So he wasn’t completely lost to misanthropy after all. He was providing something that Dunwall desperately needed. And Jessamine. Willing to send her one true love away for months on end for the good of her people. We were fortunate to have an Empress like her, weak though she may have been at times.

Precious little Emily, though, I feared for. Raised in luxury as she was, never having to contend with the darkness of this world, I doubted she would ever make a good ruler. Jessamine at least had her dreams to bring her down to our level. But Emily? She was nothing but a spoiled, weak-minded brat who had been born with a silver spoon shoved deep in her mouth.

It was a good thing that daddy would be gone for a while. Perhaps it would put a little tarnish on that spoon.

Those were other people’s lives, however, and I should not have been concerned with them. I had a coven of witches to take care of.

“Is Melina still in Dunwall?”

“Yes.”

“Tell her to locate a source for Sokolov’s new elixir and take a portion for our own use. I don’t want to see any of our own catching the plague. Or better yet, tell her to find multiple sources and take some from each. Our presence is less likely to be noticed that way.”

“Yes, Lady Delilah.” Sybil curtsied and blinked off.

I turned to the otherworldly hound. To think, its predecessors were formed out of mere artwork off in the decaying temples of Pandyssia. I was an artist. I knew the power of art already, having used it to turn away Breanna's unworthy suitor and extort money from an ageing fool. If I were to combine witchcraft and art, then there was truly nothing that I couldn’t accomplish.

Art had power. Art could transform. Sometimes the ignorant looked at a painting and did not feel the touch of my expression upon them. Those were the ignorant ones.

But no one could ignore my witchcraft.


	17. Chapter 17

The liquid in the elixir vial was a bright red. It almost glowed internally from such a brilliant color. Red for life. Red for power. The taste was bitter and mildly unpleasant, like over-steeped tea, but I felt a surge of energy shortly after I swallowed my ration. Terrible though it may be, this plague would not claim any of our number.

Nor would any wayward bandits, or worse, the Overseers. I had carved statues of myself from the marble blocks Melina had purchased with a speed that even shocked me. It was possible that I had used my witchcraft to enhance my own significant artistic skills, but witchcraft was such an integral part of my life now that I wasn't sure where I ended and my powers began. Certainly, what I was going to do next required the use of witchcraft.

Unlike with the temple guardians, which my sisters had taken to calling Gravehounds, there was no precedent for what I was about to attempt. However, I had already proven my genius more than great enough to bring such things forth into this world. It all relied on bending the ancient forces of the Void in just the right manner. Experience had taught me that it was absurdly simple if one knew what one was doing.

I grasped at as small a part of my will as I could and sent it floating through the mist to take up habitation in the statue. It grew and filled the vessel of its own accord, almost as a semi-conscious reflection of myself.

Magic was a strange beast. The wolfhound's appearance had been immediate, but the only way to know if the statues was to wait for an intruder. Regardless, I already knew in my heart that I had succeeded yet again. It was only natural.

***

My convictions were proved to the rest of the coven a mere few days later. Our unwanted visitor  was an older man dressed in poor clothing, a visible hole hanging open on one side of his smudged vest. He was little more than a common laborer with callused hands and an aching back. His approach to Brigmore Manor was equal parts boldness and stupidity. It was useless, of course. As soon as one of the statues saw him, my sisters came upon him and took him captive without a struggle.

I only showed up after the fact. From what my sisters told me, it appeared as if the statue had moved at the sight of him, pointing straight toward the intruder, and screaming to catch their attention. It had returned to its proper position as soon as they looked away, but the results were clearly satisfactory, so I decided to leave the mystery of the moving statue for another day. Now was the time to answer a different question, that of our empty-pocketed intruder.

Before I could ask him just what he thought he was doing here, he blurted out, “Is a woman named Melina here?”

I raised an eyebrow. If I recalled correctly, Melina was currently training with Breanna. This intruder didn’t need to know that, however, until I had determined who he was and what he wanted from her.

“Who?” I asked.

“Melina. She’s about this tall and has reddish brown hair and dark eyes. Please, have you seen her?”

My brow furrowed. Who was this man? Someone from her past trying to catch up with her? Family even?  Melina had told me that while she had a family before, the Brigmore Witches were her family now. Whoever this man was, he didn’t belong here.

“What makes you think she would be here of all places?”

“She she used to be a maidservant, working for Barrister Arnold Timsh. Then one day she just didn’t come home from work. I kept asking Timsh where she was, but he kept telling me that he didn’t know, until recently. He said he’d tell me where he’d thought she’d gone, but on one condition.”

“That being?”

“He wanted me to find a woman by the name of Delilah in the Brigmore Manor outside of the city and tell her that he wishes to see her. He claimed that Delilah would know where she was. You’re her, aren’t you? He said you were unmistakable from your short hair and pale complexion.”

I frowned. “What else did he say about me, and who or what I am?”

“He only told me you were an artist. He said you’d secluded yourself in the Old Brigmore Manor to practice your art with some other women. I don’t know what you’re doing out here in the swamps, but I reckon it isn’t any of my business. That’s all I know, honestly.”

I looked him over. A man like this was the sort that wasn’t nearly clever enough to be dishonest. Otherwise he wouldn’t be wearing those rags. Indeed, it seemed that he truly didn’t know we were witches and posed no threat to us. Dealing with him would be simple, in that case. I would simply send this man away and not let it trouble me any more.

“Let me make this very clear. I have no intent of ever seeing that wretched old man again. You’ve wasted my time.”

I turned to leave.

“No, wait! Please! Tell me where my Melina is! I’ve come all this way. I must know where she is!”

“Even if someone by the name of Melina were here, she wouldn’t have any desire to speak to you. Now, begone.”

“Why don’t you let Melina make her own decisions,” said Breanna from behind me. She swayed in her elegant ways as she approached, eyes aloof as she tried not to look at me, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Behind her stood the doe-eyed girl.

“Daddy?” asked Melina. “What are you doing here?”

“Melina!” he exclaimed and foolishly charged past me to embrace his daughter in his arms. I grimaced at the sickening display. What an idiot he was to risk his life for the girl. Did he think that would make him a good father? How laughable.

“Melina, we’ve missed you so much back at home. We thought we’d never see you again. All of us were so worried about you!”

“I’m fine, daddy. You can tell mother and the others that when you see them again.”

“You can tell them that yourself, my darling, when you see them again.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going back.”

“What?”

“See these people here? They saved me from a miserable life of serving the Barrister.”

“I can understand that, but what about us? Your family? You didn’t even send word. Don’t tell me that they were keeping you prisoner here.”

“No, it’s just… we have a goal here, but in order to achieve it we can’t let ourselves be known. We’re going to change the world for the better, and there are those who want it stay as it is. We can’t afford to make enemies.”

“Changing the world? What are you talking about? You’re just a bunch of women. How could you possibly change anything?”

“Need I remind you that the Empress is also a woman, and she has ample power,” I said.

“Delilah’s right. At first I thought she was hoping against hope, but I came to realize that what she spoke of was possible. The Empire has turned into a horrible machine. People like us are on the bottom. It just can’t continue this way. I’m doing this for all of you, daddy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re women. No one would listen to you. Come home, Melina.”

For a moment, I was afraid she would listen to this man's imperious demands. None of our number had ever left us, but for the most part that was because they had nothing to return to. I couldn’t just let her go. It would be a threat to our collective security to let her walk away. I stood hoped that Melina would deny him with all the strength of my conviction.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Melina?”

“You will always be my family, and I will always love you, but this is my family too. You may see us as a group of helpless women, but we’re not. We’re going to make things better for all of us, daddy. I’m doing this for all of you.”

“This is madness, Melina. You’re throwing your family away for the sake of some empty words!”

She looked down at the marshy ground beneath her boots. “I’m sorry daddy. Some day you’ll understand.”

“Melina! Melina!” he shook her violently as if that would make his opinion sink into the girl. She just remained silent and swayed back and forth in his grip.

“That’s enough,” said Breanna, forcefully enough to make the stubborn proletarian cease shaking his daughter at once.  “You might not think that we can do anything ourselves. That we’re helpless to change our lot in life. Maybe that’s what years of working in a heartless factory has taught you, but it simply isn’t true. We have power. We can make choices, and our choices have consequences. That’s how I’m so certain that we can change the world. It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe us. It’s the truth.”

“You can’t be serious. This is folly. Can’t you see, Melina?”

“Daddy, I think it would be best if you just left us alone. You may not understand, but this is something I must do.”

“I am not leaving without you, Melina.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be sure to write to you once in awhile. I can take care of myself.”

“You’re just a child. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I am twenty-two years old. I’m legally an adult now. Breanna is right. I can make my own decisions.”

“Melina…”

“Yes, it’s best that you just leave,” I said. “She won’t be coming back with you and that is final. Go to return to your grind at whatever factory you’re enslaved to while we make all the difference in this world. You’ll thank us in the end.”

He turned red at my suggestion. “I have five mouths to feed and I work very hard for all of them, while you just sit around here in the middle of nowhere lazing about like a bunch of want-to-be witches! You put your families to shame and spit on hard working men like me!”

Want-to-be-witches? By all means, let him think that. He was less likely to go running to the Overseers if he didn’t know what we really were. Not to mention that he made the assumption that any of us outside of Melina had any families left to shame.

“Please, daddy. Just go. You’re making everything worse.”

In the end, it wasn’t her words that moved him. It was the tears brimming in the corners of her eyes.

“You really believe in this cause of yours, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“You’re right. You’re full grown woman now. I can’t keep you from making this decision, even if I don’t approve.”

A tear fell. “Thank you for understanding, daddy.”

“I’ll do as you ask and leave you alone. I’ll tell your mother that you are well, but please write to us.”

“I will.”

“Goodbye, Melina. I love you.”

“I love you too, daddy.”

My sisters showed the man out. As soon as he had left, Melina collapsed to the floor. “I can’t believe that I had forgotten about them. You are my family now, but they’re my family too.”

Breanna laid a hand on her shoulder. “He’s a good man. Small-minded, but a good man. Cherish having a father like that.”

Something in the way she spoke her words pulled me the wrong way. I turned to leave the room. Brunhilde stood in the entrance.

“I heard all that. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for any of you.” She turned toward me. “Delilah, Melina trusts you to follow through on your words. It’s time for you to take the next step and prove her trust in you to be well placed. I’m certain you know what I speak of.”

Here it came. There was no way to avoid it now. “Dunwall Tower.”

“Yes. You must act. The more you delay, the weaker our dream becomes. The pamphlets have been in circulation for quite some time. It has been more than long enough already.”

“Very well,” I said. “You are right, as always. I will meet with the Empress on the morrow."

***

I approached Dunwall Tower alone. This was something only I could do. It might well turn out to be an emotional reunion. I couldn’t let my sisters see that.

The day was bright and shining. I enter onto Tower grounds from the northern side, blinking over the rooftops. From up here, I would run no risk of being seen, even as I blinked around the Tower itself making my way to the southern gardens. Below me I could see everything that was happening.

There she was, coming across the courtyard. Jessamine entered the gardens where she went to meet one of her advisers, a bald man dressed all in black.

She carried herself with such grace, even in these trying times. Though I had left her to pursue my journeys around the Isles, I realized something. I could never hate her. For all the life of privilege she had lived while I labored in the kitchens with dough beneath my fingernails, she remained my oldest friend. What’s more, she was the only one who truly understood the hole in my heart that led into the Void, because she had it too.  Neither of us could go back to the way things were, frolicking in innocence together amidst the flowers.

A small figure dressed all in white bounded across the yard and met up with her. Emily. Precious Emily. So unlike me, unsullied by the cruelties of the world. So ignorant of the malices in my heart.

No, I could never hate Jessamine. She was too much like me. But I could certainly hate Emily, who had inherited everything she had through no means of her own, but simply because she had been born to the right parents.

After a moment of standing by her mother’s side, she began to fidget. Couldn’t she see that they were in a meeting? How like a brat to not show even a scrap of patience. Jessamine eventually gave up in trying to control the child and instructed her to go and find something else to do while she spoke of adult matters. Emily only slowly complied, clinging to her mother’s leg for a little time more before finally running off.

Once she had left the two of them, Jessamine made for the gazebo in which I had spoken with her the very day after receiving the Mark. They stood there, looking out over the river with their backs to me. I wasn’t certain how long their meeting would last. No matter. I would display the patience that Emily could not.

Meanwhile, the child was fixedly watching someone having their portrait painted in another section of the gardens. Judging from the bright red outfit of the bald man who was posing as his subject, it could only be the High Overseer. Today was certainly a day for familiar faces. If I had any luck, he wouldn’t even remember me, but it was yet another obstacle that had to be addressed.

As my gaze left the High Overseer, it crossed over the man doing the painting. At first glance, I hadn’t paid him much attention, but now a feeling of intense familiarity crossed over me. There was something there in the posture and bearing. I strained my eyes for a better look.

Anton?  My gut lurched. What was he doing here? Besides painting the High Overseer of course. This was a complication far greater than anything a meeting with an adviser or the High Overseer could merit.

Here he was, my former mentor, and the one man who represented everything the Brigmore Witches fought against more than any other indivual. After so many years apart, I saw only tragedy between us. Should I leave and hope that he wouldn't be there another day?

No. I had come this far. There was no turning back now. I had to do this for my sisters. There was no way that I could come back to them empty handed, not when I was their leader. I had to do this. I would simply wait for an opening and ask Jessamine to speak privately, away from the judging eyes of Sokolov.

I was brought back to reality by the sound of gears turning and water rushing into the water lock. Even from my perch, I could hear it loud and clear. Who was coming now?

Soon the gushing water ceased. At first a lone guardsman appeared from the entrance to the structure. He was swiftly followed by a man dressed in a dark greatcoat. There he was, the exalted father, finally back from his months abroad.

Emily rushed to meet him. The Lord Protector knelt down and opened his arms, allowing for the young girl to catch him in full embrace. I’m certain that if I had been close enough to see it, the pair of them would be smiling like idiots.

Corvo lifted his darling into the air for a moment before setting her down again. With careless displays such as that, it was a wonder that no one had pointed out the scandal surrounding the two of them as of yet. Upon Emily’s request, he followed her off to the same stairs that Jessamine and I had descended that fateful day so many years ago. Only, when they returned from whatever game they had been playing, it wasn’t to punish Emily. Corvo broke off from the child and proceeded up the stair to the gazebo, though the meeting was still in progress.

I wondered if Jessamine had ever shared her darkest secret with him. Probably not, despite my advice.

He paused at the edge of the gazebo, waiting for Jessamine to finish her discussion with the adviser. Emily came running up just afterwards. She showed no attempt to be quite so diplomatic as her father, and made a beeline straight towards Jessamine. At her approach, the Empress turned toward her, and must have been stricken with the desire to be alone with her family, because her adviser bowed gracefully and left them. He stopped briefly next to Corvo before continuing on. Corvo went to meet with his Empress, as the adviser found his way over to one of the guards. It seemed that he had said something to the guardsman that permitted him to leave his post. Perhaps in light of the Royal Protector’s return, his presence was no longer required. At the very least, it would make it easier to find that opening that I was looking for.

I waited, but instead of an opening, disaster struck.

It started with four or five figures moving across the roof of the water lock. As I strained for a closer look, I saw that they were not only running, but blinking as well. It wasn’t the familiar blink that my sisters performed, but the sinister dissolving that I recognized from a different source entirely. They were dressed in all black and wore industrial masks.

Daud’s men were here.

Two of them landed on the ground just before the gazebo with swords drawn. From the way they jolted forward, they could only be after Jessamine.

Corvo reacted instantly. He whirled toward the aggressors and simultaneously drew his sword and pistol. Behind him, Jessamine had wrapped her arms around Emily, kneeling motherly over her. Their protector aimed at one of the two assassins. I wasn’t certain if the bullet actually hit him before he blinked away, but as I saw no further signs of him, I assumed that it did.

Seeing a brief opening, the other tried to rush in for a kill, but Corvo easily parried him. The bodyguard skillfully twisted and darted his blade in such a way that it sent the would-be assassin's sword arm was sent flying off to one side. It exposed him widely, and Corvo did not fail to take advantage the opportunity.

A third assassin blinked in and approached the gazebo from the opposite side as the other two. It was in vain. Corvo had spotted him and raised his gun. It fired, and the assassin blinked to the side. He closed the distance between them with swift bounds. Blades met briefly, then Corvo’s sword flicked around in an impossibly swift arc, striking at an opening that the assassin hadn’t even realized was there. The resulting wound didn’t look fatal, but it was quite long, and if the assassin’s sudden shift in body language were any indication, extremely painful. Realizing he couldn’t leave a mark on a man, especially in his condition, he retreated with a blink.

In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t realized how fast my heart was racing. What was there to gain by killing the Empress? A few petty coins to line that assassin’s pouch? Daud bore the Mark, just as I did, but nothing in his actions had proved him worthy of it. He did the bidding of others for coin. Where was the noble ambition in that? To think, this was the man feared throughout Dunwall and beyond. Beware the man in red, the Outsider had said. Ridiculous. He was no dangerously efficient practitioner of witchcraft as I was. He was merely a sycophant who murdered cowardly nobles in their sleep as a proxy for other cowardly nobles. Corvo had taught him a lesson by stopping his trio of assassins dead in their tracks.

Suddenly it occurred to me. There had been at least four of them.

Just as the realization had crossed my mind, the fourth appeared. Corvo had been turned away, speaking with the beloved Empress he had supposedly just saved. Despite his lightning-quick reactions, he simply wasn’t fast enough to avoid the pulse of green light emitted from the assassin’s hands. It wrenched Corvo off the ground, sending him up several feet into the air. Though he put up a valiant struggle, against the forces of the Void, his limbs could only dangle uselessly, unable to do a thing to protect his family.

With a flash of bright red, the horrid man himself appeared. Instead of going straight for the Empress, Daud reached out and grabbed Emily by the arm. Jessamine stepped forward and shoved hard against the assassin’s chest. He was twice as thick around the waist as she was, but to my surprise, this wall of a man was pushed back far enough to let go of Emily’s arm. Though her limbs were every bit as thin and willowy as her mother’s it seemed they hid something of her father’s enormous physical strength after all.

Once his attention was squarely focused on Jessamine, however, she stood no chance against the beast. He backhanded her savagely, and she spun from the force of the blow. Before she could find her proper footing, a mighty gloved hand caught her by the throat. Daud drove her backwards against the railing on one side of the pavilion. Though her delicate fingers pulled at his iron grip, there was nothing she could do to stop him.

I saw the assassin raise his blade and point it straight at Jessamine’s heart.

Something told me that I should be down there with them. The sword by my side hung there with a newfound weight. I could draw it and blink to the scene. Daud wouldn’t be expecting me. It would be easy to save Jessamine. But between her, Anton, and most of all that undeserved silver spoon shoved deep into the recesses little Emily’s greedy mouth…

My legs didn’t move.

A spray of ruby droplets stained the marble beneath her gentle form. The cold assassin shoved her to the ground. It was hardly necessary. Her life blood was spilling out onto the Tower grounds and her body had gone limp with the shock of it.

Emily tried to flee, only to be scooped up in one arm by the assassin holding Corvo aloft. He vanished with the heir in tow, and Corvo landed hard upon the stone tiles.

Daud took one look at the fallen Lord Protector, paused for but a moment, then turned and blinked away from the scene of the crime.

Corvo righted himself enough to crawl over to his lover’s collapsed figure. He took her up in her arms one final time. There would be no recovering from the wound Daud had given her. The blade had pierced all the way through her her torso.

He set her down regretfully on the blood-soaked tiles of the gazebo. Just like that, she was gone.

The adviser she had met with a few minutes prior to the tragedy and the High Overseer approached, guardsmen at their sides.

I remained where I was, watching the entire scene play out.

Something strained and cracked within me. I felt as if part of the house I was living in had been washed away by a flash flood, leaving me confused and very, very numb.

Everything was different now. The sun that had shone over the world had been replaced with a new, colder star. My first friend and only comrade in suffering was no more. The entire Imperial family had been spirited away in one fell swoop at the hands of a weak-hearted murderer. All our plans up to now had been dashed.

And Daud. Had he known of any of this tragedy he had forced upon me? Could it be that I had underestimated him? He was an assassin. Dunwall was perfectly suited to his profession as it currently stood. A world where life was cheap, and a predator could not only get away with hunting its prey, but be paid for it as well.

It was all his fault, I thought with hatred.

The crime this monster had committed right before my eyes could never be forgiven. I would punish him. I would paint this foul man’s portrait and drive my thorns into him so hard that he would choke upon his own guilt!

He couldn’t see the chaos he had sewn. He was too small-minded for that. Whether he knew it or not, the Empire was primed to tears itself apart into incoherent pieces because of him and him alone. Corvo was being marched off to Coldridge prison for trial and Emily was the captive of a vicious killer who smelled of her mother’s fresh blood.

Emily. This was the first time she had been forced to face the sheer, unrelenting tragedy of the world face on. It would utterly crush and mangle her fragile, sheltered mind. Even if someone did manage to rescue her from her abductors, what then? The damage had already been done. She would never make a good ruler.

I would be better.


	18. Chapter 18

When one is capable of projecting oneself through a piece of artwork, finding a missing person is hardly a challenge. I used Sokolov’ method to fill out the details of Emily’s face from references and my own brief flashes of memory from the couple of times I had seen her.  Dark, evenly cut hair. A childish button nose. Soft brown eyes. My sketch mimicked the girl just enough to take a look through her eyes, but nothing more. For now, that was all I needed.

Gathering up my will, I focused on the quick sketch and projected myself through it. I was in an elongated room, looking down at the scuffed black leather of Emily’s shoes. Since I was unable to control her with so crude a depiction, I would have to wait until the girl lifted her head to get more details about the location where she was being held.

I heard the sound of a door opening. Emily glanced up for but a moment. Two men, almost identical in appearance entered the room. Twins, I supposed. They were even matched in the manner in which they wore their greasy hair. Emily looked down again, burying her head against her knees.

“She still hasn’t touched her food,” said one of the brothers.

“Go on, eat up. We need you to be strong and healthy.”

Emily didn’t move.

“Eat. It will make you feel better. This is good food we’ve offered you, and you shouldn't waste it.”

Still nothing.

“Enough of this. We put ourselves at great risk getting you out of the clutches of that monster. You should be thanking us, not sitting here sulking. What happened to the Empress was truly terrible, but we must move on for the sake of the Empire.”

“We need you to trust us. We are your last remaining allies in this city, and we very much wish to see your rightful return to the throne, but we must have your cooperation first.”

“If you really want to help me, then why are you keeping me a prisoner here?” muttered the downhearted child.

“You are hardly our prisoner. We keep you here for your own protection. That assassin Corvo has been taken into custody, but knowing him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to escape and came for you next. Coldridge is the most secure prison in the world, of course, but we must be prepared for anything. If the former Lord Protector could murder the very person he was sworn to protect, who knows what he might try to do.”

Whatever he had been trying to convince the girl of, his poorly chosen words only set her off into a fit. “Corvo would never have killed mother! He loves us! It was big, mean, nasty man wearing red who just appeared out of nowhere! Corvo tried to fight them, but they used some kind of spell on him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. People can’t just appear out of thin air or cast spells. Those are just old wive’s tales.”

“Corvo is a dangerous man. Once we get a confession out of him and execute him for his crimes, then we can let you go. In the meantime, you must stay here at the Golden Cat for your own protection.”

“No! You can’t kill Corvo! He’s going to escape, and then he’ll come and save me! Just you see!”

“We’re clearly not getting through to her.”

“Yes. Let’s leave her alone for now. I’m sure she’ll calm down and see reason eventually.”

“You are both liars! I’m never going to believe you!”

“Please eat,” said one of them from the hallway. He simply shut the door and locked it with the jingling of keys and a faint click. Emily slumped against the wall to cry.

I released myself from the projection. It had given me more than enough information. It seemed that there was an entire conspiracy going on. I was willing to be that those twins were in league with the new Lord Regent, a mouse-like little man by the name of Hiram Burrows. They likely all played some minor part in the Empress’s assassination. It would explain how they had recovered her so swiftly from Daud’s custody. They had simply paid him his fee, and Daud had obeyed like a good little mercenary. Now it seemed that the lot of them intended to secure power for themselves, first through the Regency, then eventually by putting a puppet Empress on the throne.

All the more reason that the girl was not fit to rule.

“Well? What did you see?” asked ever-curious Isabelle.

“It seems that they’re keeping her at the Golden Cat.”

Breanna’s eyes lit up. “Why, by the Outsider’s eyes did they think it would be proper to keep a  _ child _ there?”

“No one would suspect it,” I suggested.

“But she’s just a girl. Should I go and rescue her?”

“No need for that. Even if it takes a while, she’ll still be put on the throne by someone or another. That fits very nicely into my new plan. If we took her, and then returned her to the throne, the Overseers would cry witchcraft. They’d say her newfound sympathy to our cause would be evidence of heretical manipulation on our part. Then, our one chance to change the world would be lost.”

“You keep speaking of this new plan,” said Brunhilde. “What is it, precisely?”

I stepped forward and prepared to present it to my sisters. “With the Empress dead, the throne has been turned over to the very sort of cowardly reactionary male who would never lend our grievances an ear, much less act on them. Even in these past few weeks, the Lord Regent has more than proven that he not only intends to ride this tide that is destroying us all, but to hasten its rampage. Look at what he has wrought. Quarantine established, insurrection declared treasonous, and not even an eye batted when the Watch massacres innocents in the street. In these dire times, it would seem that our hopes for saving Dunwall have been dashed. That isn’t true. There is another Empress who will listen to us.”

“You mean the heir? But she’s merely ten years old. How do you expect her to be of any help to us?”

“True, left alone, she would surely become a puppet to these dishonorable men. She is but an impressionable child, after all. We cannot allow those misguided fools to continue to rob the seas of their majestic whales and turn our great forests into wastelands. Under their rule, the Empire will surely spiral evermore into the same oblivion that befell the ancient Pandyssians. The sea is rising and they can't even smell its reek. Turbulent though these times may be, they may work to our advantage, however. Emily has gone through much trauma. She will be forever changed by her experiences. With both her parents out of the picture, no one would notice that she’d had such a complete change of personality once she returns to the throne. No one would be the wiser if she took our side.”

“If we don't rescue her, then how do you plan to do that?” questioned Breanna.

“Simple. With magic, of course. What I am capable of doing by projection is only limited by my imagination. What if I could do more than just influence the young heir? What if I, say, became her?”

Moray’s journal had briefly mentioned something of the sort. It told the tale of a priest who desired to live forever by taking possession of his younger acolytes. He had been discovered and put to death in the end, but I of course, wouldn’t face such a dreary end. After all, I was a genius, and he was nothing more than just another savage Pandyssian.

“That is a very forceful way of going about it,” said Brunhilde. “If I understand your intentions correctly, does that not mean sacrificing the poor girl’s mind to the Void?”

“It certainly might.," I shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "Still, what is the life of one girl, heir to the Empire or not, compared to the nobility of our aims?”

Brunhilde was silent with consideration for a moment. “Everything comes with a price that must be paid, no matter how terrible. While I do not believe that this is the only way, you do make a fair point, Delilah. Much hangs in the balance. I can accept this.”

“Is that who we are now?” Breanna said quietly, but she didn’t further disagree.

I looked about the room. None of the other sisters moved to contradict me. They had all long ago become enraptured by my leadership, and I could count on them to accept me and what I needed to do. It was only fitting. No one else among them had the ambition necessary.

“Delilah, you truly are one of the greatest genius this world has ever known. You’re every bit the match for Sokolov, and more,” said a starry-eyed sister. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine how such a ritual could be performed. You are a guiding star to us all. So long as you are there to lead us, we can never fail.”

“Just tell us what we need to do, and we will do it,” Melina concurred.

I found myself smiling. “Magic such as this relies on a connection formed between the performer of the ritual and the target. If even the slightest detail is off, it could spell disaster. Everything, down to the very canvas I use must be carefully crafted with the ritual in mind. Brunhilde, and those of you who have experience with weaving, step forward. We are going to Draper’s Ward.”

***

Dunwall was even filthier than before, now that the plague had swept through it and left piles of decaying bodies shoved away into the street corners. I resolved that this would be the last time that I would be physically leaving Brigmore Manor before I found myself sitting on the throne at Dunwall Tower. My sisters were more than sufficient to go out for supply runs and take care of my trifling errands. Let them battle their way through this horrendous odor.

Sucking up my disgust, I knocked on the flimsy wooden door. An old face opened it.

“Who are you?”

“Someone you once knew, however briefly,” I told the dressmaker. “I suspect that you might not recognize me. It has been well over twenty years since we’ve met. Does the name Delilah ring a bell?”

His brow scrunched in visible pondering, then lit up with realization. “You were the daughter of the serving girl at Dunwall Tower. I remember. We met on the first day I began working for the Kaldwins. I was just a young man, fresh from my apprenticeship back then, and you were nothing more than a child. Look at you, all grown up. By all means, come in. What brings you here after so many years?”

“In light of the Empress’s recent death, I found there was business for me to attend to.”

“Tragic news, that. I’m sure you miss her terribly. You were such good friends when you were little. She was such a special woman. I was honored to have known her. The world will never quite be the same now that she’s gone. And sweet, darling Emily. I can hardly imagine what she’s going through. Hopefully someone will manage to find the poor girl soon.”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up sooner or later,” I said, waving my hand.

My interest wasn’t focused on the dressmaker himself, but on the loom that sat behind him. He made his own textiles. Only the finest for the wealthy of Dunwall. Hundreds of dresses had likely begun their existence on that very loom, and Emily’s were certainly among them. It stood empty and gathering dust, though bolts of its products stood leaning against the wall just beyond. It seemed that the dressmaker was past his prime, worn out and tossed aside like an old garment. How very like modern Dunwall.

“You know, she reminds me of you when you were just a little girl yourself.”

“Who? The Empress?”

“No. Emily. You are both so smart and curious, and you were always drawing.”

“We are nothing alike," I rejected. "She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth, and I was not. We couldn’t be more different.”

He sighed and became downcast. “I heard some of the details about what happened to you, though the staff were reluctant to tell me all of it. I’m truly sorry. That was a terrible thing to do to a child.”

“Precisely. Emily never suffered like I did. Don’t dare to compare us.”

“When she was born, I certainly hoped that she would grow up joyful and carefree. Up until recently, she did. It’s such a shame. I considered them among my friends, Emily and the late Empress. They even gave me a locket with a tuft of young Emily’s hair as a token of gratitude when my hands started to become too stiff to work a needle properly.”

I saw the locket now. A dainty golden chain was tucked into his shirt. It must truly have been special to him, this memento of all his long years of service to the Kaldwin name. But I needed it more. It was perfect for my spell. I had simply come here for the canvas, but now it seemed that I would be leaving with far more. I hadn't yet chosen how I would link my brushes to little Emily, but the very hairs on her head had been presented before me as nicely as if they’d been personally gift wrapped.

“How unfortunate for you that you hands have become too decrepit with age to continue your craft, but you see, I can’t be bothered to care. I came here for business, and that is precisely what I intend to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

His melancholy expression faded, replaced by one of shock. “ If I didn’t know better, I’d say you didn’t care about what has happened to Jessamine and Emily either.”

“On the contrary, I care very much. That is why I’m doing what I must do, and neither you, nor Emily, nor anyone else will stand in my way.”

The dressmaker fixed upon me with a long, hard stare. It was if I had presented a dangerous mystery to him, which he could only struggle to figure out.

“What happened to you, Delilah? You used to be such a sweet girl.”

“Quite simple. I grew up. Now I’ve moved on the grander things. Who would have expected the lowly serving girl from Dunwall Tower to be capable of what I am? Yet here I stand, brought before you by all the conviction of my genius. You have something I need, and you’re going to give it to me now, whether you like it or not.”

As soon as I had finished the sentence, I reached out into the room, and called up the Void to do my bidding. At once, the windows clouded over and the light coming from under the door jamb was snuffed out. It was just me, him, and the eerie violet glow that I had grown to associate with shrines to the Outsider. The room hummed with power. My power. Suggestions of organic shapes began to shift in the uncanny shadows.

The dressmaker took one look at this sight and stepped fearfully backwards. As if there was anywhere to flee to. I didn’t actually intend to kill him. I wasn’t a monster, but I needed him to be incapacitated during the time that my sisters would be weaving my canvas. What I doing was similar to what I had accidentally subjected Melina to. I had turned to see her collapsed and bound on the floor behind me, completely pressed to the ground by the Void-shadows. Only when I had willed my shadows completely from the hallway had she been able to move and speak again.

The thorny tendrils made their sinister shapes apparent, twisting up and around the dressmaker’s body. They caught him tight and he froze, every bit as stiff as porcelain doll. He fell on his face with a heavy thump without even a chance to scream.

Only his eyes moved with frightened, jerking motions as a leaned over him.

“This will be our little secret,” i said. “I have big plans and I will not see you ruin them. Remember, you are a small, insignificant man next to me. If you even think about telling the Overseers about this, I will return and flay you screaming.”

With an abrupt tug, one of the links in the thin chain gave way, and I pulled the locket from around his neck. On its front was etched the Kaldwin swan. I pushed it open, and sure enough a small tuft of glossy black hair rested inside. Satisfied, I shut it tightly again, and grinning dropped it into my pocket. The shadows dissipated from about the apartment. I only left enough to keep the dressmaker bound. With one foot, I rolled him off into a corner so that he wouldn’t get in our way.

“Come, my loves,” I called to my sisters.

At my word, the three of them who had been waiting obediently outside opened the door and stepped inside. Brunhilde led the group, and the one directly behind her carried a large bag full of the linen spools we had just acquired. Stopping at the loom, Brunhilde gave gentle orders to her assistants on how to set the loom properly. I left them to it as they began putting the warp threads into place.

I strode over to the wall, and took up a red oil pastel I had kept in my pocket. Symbols such as these I had seen sketched out several times in Moray’s journal. I had adapted one to bring the Gravehound to life already. The drawing I intended to make this time did not focus the forces of the Void in on one singular object at its center. Instead, it would radiate the songs outwards about the room from a rune which I would place at its heart. A strange tune would prevail throughout everything we were making, every string in the canvas, every strand of hair in my brushes. I set the bright red oil pastel against the ageing wallpaper. Let the very Void sing to my praises!

***

The beautifully crafted canvas was stretched across a frame and ready to become host to my masterwork. I ran my finger down the taut fibers picturing where I would paint Emily’s face and dainty limbs. Limbs that would soon move according to my will and a face that would conceal the identity of the one who ought to have been Empress all along.

This painting required my utmost care. I would leave it for a few days to consider my composition. Not one detail could be out of place, not with something as vital as this.

While I mulled over the details of my soon-to-be creation, there was something else to be taken care of. Beside my blank canvas was a finished painting which I had been working on over the past few days. The geometric fractures across its plane were held together by one prominent color. Red. Shades of subtle, pulsing rose and the bright, bright red that pumped from the arteries of one of his many victims. It was this red made up the harsh landscape of Daud’s face. It looked as if one could injure their fingers simply by running their hand down the rough texture of paint. For all of Sokolov’s genius, this was the most accurate depiction of the Knife of Dunwall there had ever been, and it would prove to be his undoing as well.

I picked up my thorny tendrils and sent them through the tans and turquoises, but most of all the reds. The banners transformed from Kaldwin blue to the Regent’s red. Marks of plague sloppily painted on the side of boarded-up buildings in paint as bright red any of my pigments. The Empress laying in a pool of her own blood, and the look of true horror captured perfectly in Corvo Attano's eyes as he held her one last time. This was the red that he felt.

His guilt bloomed like a rose had grown out from between the cracks of destruction he had sewn in one foul, unrelenting fraction of a moment. It boomed and echoed as a low, slowly burning leitmotif singing the same haunted notes to him again and again every night. I almost pulled my own thorns back. The rose was pure red, so much so that it was practically dripping its hue onto the cobblestones, and had been doing so for a very long time. Such overbearing guilt possessed a beauty far beyond what even my artist’s hand could paint within his heart.

“Why did you let Corvo go?” asked a woman’s voice.

In curiosity I snaked my way further into the projection. What Daud was looking at came into focus for my hidden eyes as well. Before him stood one of his loyal assassins, dressed in red leather just as he was. This must have been the one known as Lurk.

I hadn’t expected her to be Pandyssian.

“He wasn’t the target,” Daud replied. His voice was low and hoarse, almost a wolf’s growl. It was about what I expected from the scarred and crag-faced assassin.

“He saw your face. Letting him live was sloppy.”

“Corvo is locked away deep in Coldridge undergoing interrogation for murdering the Empress. Burrows isn’t letting him walk out of there alive. You know that as well as I do. Corvo will go down in history as the killer of Jessamine Kaldwin, and a band of assassins living on the fringes of the city will be forgotten. That will be that.”

“If he escapes? It’s a slim possibility, but you’ve heard the stories about the man.”

“Well, if he does, I won’t go down without a fight.”

“You wouldn’t have to fight him at all if you’d just killed him. That’s what you always taught me to do.”

“Enough, Lurk. It’s already been done. I made my choice.”

The Pandyssian studied him for a moment. “You’re… different Daud. Ever since killing the Empress. I can’t help but wonder…” she drifted off.

As she looked long and hard at Daud, I couldn't help but crack a smile at the thought that she had no idea that somewhere far away, a witch who could control people through nothing more than their portraits had grabbed a piece of paper and was sketching away at her features. I made note of the dark skin stretched over her cheekbones, which came down to a form an overly thin jawline. It was poorly offset by her bulbous lips and altogether framed by the slick black hair. I finished my precursory drawing just before she blinked away to somewhere else in Daud’s base.

The sketch was a simple frontal view. It would limit how I could form the portrait of dear Lurk, but with my ingenious brush hand, the limitation would not inconvenience me.

Dealing with Daud would be simple. All I need do was to add a few thorns of my own to the unkempt garden that he had permitted to grow unchecked within his heart. Then I would simply sit back and watch him choke upon his own guilt. Victory over him would be so easy that I almost found myself disappointed in Daud. Here was the famous assassin, on the edge of a precipice, not even knowing who was about to push him over. No matter. What would be far more delicious was to bring those who followed him crashing down with him.


	19. Chapter 19

I projected through the painting as usual, but this time, I had a slight variation in mind. My goal was to appear before Lurk, not within her. So I found myself gazing at her on the opposite side of a small table in a private bunk room, and I knew I had succeeded.

There the Pandyssian was, nose deep in a book, eating grapes from a small platter. Almost like a civilized person. I looked over the words on the book’s cover. They were written out in excessively florid characters, which were hard to decipher from where I stood. I could just about make them out, however. ‘Metaphysika Mysterium’ it read with a ring of familiarity. Now where had our lowly assassin gotten a copy?

“It’s not nearly as informative as you would think,” I spoke, with the intention of announcing my presence. “Of course, one can hardly expect an Overseer to truly understand magic, now, can one? He isn’t like you or me.”

Years of living as an assassin had clearly trained the girl’s reflexes. At my first few words, she had already leaped up, tossing her chair aside and produced a knife out from somewhere I couldn’t fathom.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded.

“I have my ways, but you certainly won’t learn them from that book. Or Daud for that matter. Terrified governesses and foppish aristocrats might whisper about the mighty Knife of Dunwall in hushed tones, but in truth, he simply has no ambition. Not like I do.”

“No ambition? Daud has shaped this city.”

I had previously filled the unsuspecting girl’s heart with my lovely poisons in preparation for this moment. My thorns had twisted around it and injected it full of lust for power and distrust of Daud. All I had to do was bring it boiling up to the surface.

“Has he? He is nothing but a mercenary. He kills at others’ requests. Tell me, what power is there in that? No, I think the true shapers of Dunwall are his clients. That and individuals like myself. I will change the very fabric of the Empire through the force of my own will and mine alone. That is what true power means. Compared to me, he hardly is worthy of bearing the Mark, don’t you agree?”

“You-- you’ve seen the Outsider?” Her eyes grew wider at that, like a child before a candy store.

“Of course, many times.” For all his talk about things being interesting or not, he rarely had anything interesting himself to say. That was his problem, not mine, however, and it hardly bore worth relating to Lurk. “I am willing to bet that the Outsider has long since lost interest in Daud. Am I wrong?”

“Actually he--” she paused for a second. “What is your name?”

“Delilah Copperspoon.” I almost thought that I saw a glimmer of realization at that, but it was gone in an instant. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, yours?”

“Lurk.” Was that it? Really? Perhaps it was self-chosen.

“Lurk? What an odd name. Befitting an assassin, but odd nonetheless.”

“Speak for yourself, Miss Spoon.”

“Copperspoon.”

“Right. You’re here now. So what do you want?”

“To make a deal with you, dear child. I can offer you power beyond anything Daud has ever given you. You want  _ more _ don’t you? Don’t try to hide it. I can see it in your eyes. Would you know it, but that is the very same wish I have granted to dozens of women before. I can easily grant that for you as well.”

“If you’re asking me to run away with you to your coven, then no. This is my home. I’m staying here.”

“That is hardly what I mean. I offer you power.” Not to mention that many of my sisters would not approve of sharing Brigmore Manor with a Pandyssian.

“What kind of power?”

“I can shape the hearts of men according to my own will. With my witchcraft they easily bow before me. Why, I even brought one of the foremost aristocrats in Dunwall to his knees through forcing him into infantile fascination with me. You should have seen him, the esteemed nobleman catering to the every whim of a mere lowly artist. He even shamelessly placed my name on the side of his prized whaling ship for all to see. If they only knew the power hidden behind such a simple name. Of course, one day they all will. With power such as mine, you could transform those who you serve into serving you. That is the true manner of witchcraft, not the petty parlor tricks Daud uses to slay nobles as they sleep. Some part of the power that flows through me can be yours as well, my sweet.”

She considered what I had said for a moment. “And in return?”

“What I ask from you is quite simple. Daud must die.”

Had I not spread my thorns so deep into her heart, this would be the moment she made use of that knife she had been brandishing for daring to suggest that she betray her master. But the seeds I had planted stuck deep within her, and were now cracking open through the fertile, rotting surface into the light.

“We’ve always had this unspoken understanding between us, Daud and I. He knew that he would grow too old to lead us eventually. When that time comes we know that the strongest among us will challenge him for leadership. No one has ever said it, but deep down we all know who that person will be.”

The look in her eyes had it all. I had her firmly within my grasp.

“He’s still able enough in body,” she continued, “but ever since killing the Empress, he’s been different. Weak.”

“Then it looks like your day has come sooner than you anticipated. If you take up my offer, I have no doubt that you will succeed against him. Eat or be eaten. That is the rule among you cannibals, isn’t it?”

Her darkly paletted face curled into a scowl. “Listen Delilah. I’m willing to work with you to take down Daud. We’re allies for now, but we are not friends. As soon as the task is done, I never want to see you again. Is that clear to you?”

“Most certainly. We are merely business partners, as you say, my dear assassin. Now, in order for me to help you, I will need to hear everything you know about Daud. All his powers and all his weaknesses.”

“He shares his power with us. Much like what you’re offering, I think. Most of us are fiercely loyal to him because of it. Daud possess a few more powers than we do, however. He can see people through wall when he concentrates and I think part of his magic allows him move at deadly fast speed whenever he builds up adrenaline in the middle of a battle. None of the rest of us can keep up when he’s like that.”

“Interesting. It sounds as if it might be difficult for you to defeat him head-on. Do you have any idea as to why he possesses such powers?”

“Only theories. They say that his mother was a Serkonan witch but--”

“So the child of a witch, is he? Then he should know well what a dangerous adversary he will have awakened if he ever discovers my name.”

“It’s just a rumor. Daud has never confirmed it to be true himself. None of us have ever worked up the nerve to ask him about it. He's touchy about it.”

“Then why don’t you?

“Me?”

“You plan to betray him. Surely you can muster up enough courage for a simple question. If not, then you wouldn’t be worthy to lead your band of assassins anyway. That is potentially vital information that might prove his undoing. Find out everything you can about this mother of his and what he learned from her.”

“It will be done.” I liked the way she said that. Almost like a servant agreeing to fill out her master’s orders.

“I shall return to this location at precisely the same day and time next week. I take it that is sufficiently long to do what I ask of you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, and I must know the precise location of your hideout.”

She looked around at the walls in confusion. “What do you mean? You’ve already found your way here already.”

“That isn’t how it works, my dear Lurk. I did not find my way into this hornet’s nest of yours exactly. Rather, I sensed the desires welling in your heart. I came directly to you, not to your base.”

“The desires in my heart?" she said flatly. "My very own pasty-faced fairy giftmother."

“If you prefer to think of me that way, then yes. Now. Your hideout.”

“The Flooded District. In the ruins of the Chamber of Commerce.”

“Thank you, love. You’ve been ever so helpful. Your are a bright child. I’m certain that the assassins will flourish under your leadership.”

“We’ll see,” she scoffed. “I’ll need to actually become leader first.”

“Remember. Same time, same place next week. Have the information for me.”

Before I could let go of the projection, Lurk spoke once again. “Delilah, there’s something you ought to know about those so-called cannibal tribes.”

“What could that be?”

“They don’t just eat anyone. It’s a very rare occurrence. When they do, it’s only during special rituals. Do you know what those rituals are for, Delilah?”

“A vain attempt to call up the Outsider, I presume.”

“No. The opposite. They only eat those who have practiced witchcraft.”

I raised my chin to look down upon that swarthy Pandyssian face.

“They are right to fear us.”

***

The sunlight was thoroughly blocked out by the unnecessary bulk of the High Overseer’s office. I entered Holger square, this time not as a bent-necked prisoner, as I had those years ago. This time, the woman who approached the hideous building was an all-too-clever witch who wasn’t actually even there. So long as none of the Overseers touched me, this would be easy, and given the myriad of strict and downright absurd laws that members of the Abbey had to obey, I could think of no reason why they would do so.

I came concealed in innocence and harmlessness, masked as I was by a mourning veil. Grieving women were just about as proper as society could expect. No one would see the witch lying just beneath. Who precisely this unassuming woman would be up to my beholders’ limited imaginations.

“Halt! This is a restricted area. State your business,” declared one of the two gate guards. He was all stiff pose and perfectly ironed uniform, as if those two things alone granted him authority.  When one holds the amount power that I do, most any other display of it does nothing more than to simply amuse you.

“I have news of heretical activity. Please, I must speak with the proper authority at once.” My words didn’t come out quite as quivering as I had hoped, but they would do nonetheless.

“File a report and we’ll look into it.”

“A report? But that could take days! Weeks! He could have moved by then.”

Is this what the man who had reported me had gone through back when I had first received the Mark? They had come the next day, so perhaps reports were dealt with more quickly than I expected. However, I needed better control over the situation than that. The sooner I could convince them to launch their attack on the unsuspecting Daud and his assassins, the better.

“You see, these aren’t just any heretics.” I made a motion, calling them closer so that I could whisper my terrible secret into secure ears. “It’s the Knife of Dunwall.”

The look they exchanged told it all, even from under those unfeeling golden masks. I had caught their full attention.

“Ma’am come with me,” said the one on the right. “The High Overseer himself will want to hear about this.”

He opened the gate behind him, and kindly led a witch through it. Straight into the bowels we headed, with my unfortunate guide none the wiser. I was brought up to the second story, but quite unlike the last time, the Overseer showed me into a wide open room in which a large meeting table stretched. The elongated windows on one wall gave an excellent view of the courtyard below.

“Wait here. We’ll call the High Overseer right away.”

I took a seat in one of the elegant wooden chairs. It was a far cry from the cold bench and wall shackles I had been treated to in my first time here. It was possible that the High Overseer would recognize me, but considering my disguise and the fact that it had been half a decade ago when we had met, I wasn’t particularly bothered by the idea.

What I was more concerned with was the fact that, likely as not, Campbell was in league with Burrows. He surely knew that the Lord Regent had hired Daud to do his dirty work. I had to hope that the two of them were looking for a way to tie up a loose end, otherwise it was unlikely I could make the High Overseer move against the man who had done their dirty work. When he showed up, it would be a mind game to try and figure out whether the conspirators wanted him gone, or if they still had need of him. It was a slippery slope.

But then, Campbell’s corruption was legendary, and I was a poor, defenseless grieving woman. I wouldn't even need to twist my thorns into his heart for this one, most likely. He’d allow himself to be manipulated without them.

Several minutes later, the man himself appeared in the doorway opposite me, flanked by two Overseers. Campbell sat down in the chair across from me, and the other two simply took positions at either side of the door and remained there.

“I hear you bring big news. First, let me inform you of your rights. As you know, we rely heavily on the common citizen to do their duty and report all heretical activity to the Abbey of the Everyman. We greatly appreciate how brave and forthcoming you have been with your knowledge. It is not an easy thing to defy a heretic, but know that it is your right to seek protection from the Abbey if you deem it necessary. Heretics are amoral, and would not hesitate in retaliating against you just because you are a woman in mourning.”

“Thank you very much for your concern, sir. They didn’t see me, I’m sure of that. I probably won’t need protection, but… these are troubling times. Ever since the Empress died, things have been getting worse and worse.”

“Please believe me when I tell you that the Regency is doing all it can to keep order.”

“I don’t doubt it. Only, who could do such a horrible thing? Just killing the Empress like that? She was such a wonderful woman, and now she’s just gone.”

No reaction. Was it because he truly felt nothing for her, or because he was too well practiced at keeping a straight face?

“I don’t suppose you ever had the chance to meet her, seeing as you’re the High Overseer. What about Attano? Do you have any idea of why he might have done such a terrible thing?”

“You are correct in that. Given my position, I did, in fact have the pleasure of knowing her fairly well. She was indeed a pious inspiration to all of us. However, she was idealistic and far too trusting. I fear it was her downfall in the end.”

Far too trusting? Strange how it could appear that way to everyone else. This was the same Jessamine who had never been able to admit possessing witchcraft to even her own lover and daughter. Now her body rested in a tomb beneath Dunwall Tower, and only Sokolov and I remained to know about it. Calling her overly trusting was a ridiculous assertion, and an insult to her memory. If that’s what Campbell believed, however, then it was likely the opinion that would lead him directly into accidentally spilling the answer that I so very much desired to hear. How trusting was he of Daud?

“Are you suggesting that putting her faith in someone as skilled and dangerous as Corvo Attano was a mistake? That she should have been far more wary of him, even though he was supposed to have been her most trusted ally?”

“Yes. I am afraid that is precisely what happened to the dear, late Empress.”

“That’s horrible. I take it that you and our Lord Regent have learned a lesson from it? I couldn’t bare to see this city plunged into further chaos by another death.”

“Fear not. We are intent not to make the same mistake.”

“So, what would you do if there was someone who could potentially assassinate you? What if it was someone you already knew about? How would you deal with it?”

He leaned back, expression finally revealing his concern. Bull’s eye.

“Our only course of action would be to eliminate the threat before they could eliminate us. Regardless of any alliance we were supposed to share.”

Likely the only thing that had prevented either Campbell or Burrows from storming Daud’s base had been the lack of knowledge as to its location. I was about to solve that for them.

“I know where a dangerous man is hiding. He may not be your ally, but from all I’ve heard of his crimes… He is a shameless heretic and needs to be brought to justice.”

Keeping to the persona of the grieving woman, I leaned over the table to ask for his ear, just as I had with the two Overseers who had been watching over the gate. I added in a few suspicious looks about the chamber, as if what I was about to speak of could summon up the man just by the mention of his name. How absurd members of the common rabble could be sometimes.

“The Knife of Dunwall. He’s hiding out in the Flooded District.”

***

“Brush touches canvas. Canvas touches Void,” I muttered as I painted. The poetry of the words appealed to me. I would be certain to include them in my ritual notes when the time finally came.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Breanna asked from behind me.

Startled, I was fortunate to have pulled the brush backwards and thus avoided laying down a streak of unwanted color to my master work. The painting had completely arrested my attention, and I must have missed her entering the room.

“My ritual must be made only of words that are full of meaning,” I replied bluntly. As much as I typically enjoyed watching Breanna, I was not particularly pleased by the interruption.

“Really? Well, you would know best, Delilah. You’ve certainly been performing quite a bit of magic that isn’t in the Metaphysika Mysterium lately. What’s your secret?”

“Good morning to you too, Breanna.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I was just pressing your buttons for a little fun. We’re friends, remember? That means we don’t always have to be nice to each other, doesn’t it?”

“Breanna? You’re acting rather odd today.”

“Relax. I only came to ask you how your second visit to Holger went, seeing as you were alone this time. It looks like I didn’t need to step in and rescue you.”

“Don’t patronize me, Breanna. I could certainly have escaped of my own accord back then. You were simply faster.”

“Not everything revolves around you, Delilah,” she said. “But enough of this. I came to ask how you did it. That was brave, walking in there like that, even if it was merely a projection. How did you walk out so easily after you handed them such a vital piece of information? I’m surprised they didn’t try to lock you up for your own protection.”

“They offered it to me, but I refused. I told them that I had to get back to my starving children, and they didn’t ask any questions. Honestly, I can’t understand some people’s obsession with children. Simply mention them, and everyone forgets all their principles for the child’s sake.”

“Maybe they had good parents. I can see how your father would have taught you otherwise.”

I looked at her with a piercing gaze. “What would you know about that?” I demanded.

“That somebody treated you wrong, and it certainly wasn’t your mother. I’ve known you long enough to infer these things, Delilah,” she explained in a low, calm tone. “Not that it matters anyway. We’re both in our thirties. Over the hill. No one would be interested in marrying us, so you’ll never have to worry about children of your own.”

“You speak as if I ever wanted them in the first place. I never have, and that hasn’t changed now.”

“I never wanted them either. Not for dislike of children themselves but because I feared they would tie me down to a family that would trap me and make me miserable. What about you?”

“I just don’t like them. They always appear so care-free and innocent. It makes me sick.”

“A useful attitude when you’re about to take over a child’s body.”

“Her age has nothing to do with it. She is our target because she will sit on the throne. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Then why didn’t you try performing the ritual on the late Empress?”

“She was already an adult. If I inhabited her body, the sudden change in personality would surely have been noticed. Emily is on the cusp of puberty. She could grow up into a completely different person, and no one would give it a second thought.”

“See? Age does have something to do with it. She’s vulnerable. No parents to defend her. Until now, I suppose.”

“Until now?”

“That’s the real reason I came here. Corvo Attano has escaped from Coldridge.”

“What? You don’t think you could have told me that when you first came in?”

“Where would be the fun in that?”

I sighed. When I got right down to it, no matter how much I tried to understand her, Breanna was always a mystery to me, especially after Yaro. Did I love her or hate her for it? More and more, I couldn’t tell, and when she acted like this, it made me all the more confused.

“I’m sorry, Breanna. I shouldn’t have been so cross with you.”

“No need for that. I know what sort of person you are deep down. Don’t apologize for your actions.”

She strode out of the room, leaving me alone with the painting of Emily.

Corvo was free now. That meant that the girl once again had a protector. I couldn’t count out the possibility that he might catch wind of my plans and come sword drawn to meet me. Witches, statues, and hounds were a formidable defense, but were they enough against the Empire’s greatest swordsman? I needed something more.

Hadn’t I read something in Moray’s journal about how ancient Pandyssians priests had actually created special section of the Void to perform rituals in? It seemed too fantastical, even for the most magically gifted. Still, their temple guardians had been real, so why not this?

If anyone was a genius enough to rediscover it, it would be me. I put aside Emily’s portrait for the day and replaced a blank canvas onto the easel. There, on its white possibility, I imagined an island floating in the misty chaos of the Void, held together by the roots of a mighty tree.


	20. Chapter 20

“Aren’t you happy to see me, my dear Lurk? Why the petulant look?”

“Stuff it. I told you we weren’t friends, Delilah.”

“Honestly, how can you expect to work with anyone if you have such a childish attitude?”

“I get along with Daud just fine.”

“Forgive for hardly seeing the worth in a partnership with that ageing butcher. Were you not ready to stick a knife in his back just last time we met?”

“Yes, I know, but… that doesn’t mean I hate him.”

“Yet you’d be willing to watch him die, if not kill him yourself. In the civilized world, those sort of actions are generally directed towards one’s enemy. So, what is he to you precisely, that could leave you so hopelessly conflicted?”

“I-- you said you would return with a plan for defeating Daud. Let’s hear it already.”

“So impatient. I was getting to that. As you know, those of us who can use magic are terrible opponents to face. We can vanish before a blade falls and reappear behind our victim’s back. With the years of experience Daud has under his belt and the inadequacy of your own powers,” I received a glare at that, “I can hardly imagine you succeeding unless you are able to weaken him of his own powers. Fortunately, I have procured a solution to that. It comes right from the Overseers themselves, no less!”

“You got a hold of one of their music boxes?”

“No, dear Lurk. Much more than that. What use would a music box be? It would weigh you down, making you an easy kill, and I doubt any of your compatriots would agree to stand around cranking it while you commit high treason. Besides, I didn’t let you share in some of my own powers just so that you couldn’t use them.”

She nodded mildly at my logic, even as her eyes drifted to the side at my last statement.

“Rest assured that I have found someone to play them in your place. The Overseers are coming.”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “You told the Overseers where we were hiding? That is not what I expected when I told you our location.”

“Trying times call for bold measures. I did not tell you of my plan for this very reason. I feared you would be too much of a coward to go through with it. You're not precisely proving me wrong.”

I heard the scrunching of her leather gloves as she curled her fingers into fists. “If that’s how it has to be, then fine. Let’s just get this over with,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No thrill of victory in you after all? I’m disappointed. So long as you get the job done, however, I will be satisfied. Now, I also recall asking you to uncover Daud’s secrets for me. I presume you have them, as we agreed.”

“Yes. Daud, he… he’s different than what I thought.”

I raised an eyebrow. This timid girl was not the one I had met a week ago. Something was different in her bearing, softer and less malicious. I knew it was impossible that the thorns had come out of her twisted little heart, but there was something gnawing away at me. I couldn't help but wonder of my leash had somehow come undone, though I knew not what force could drive it to do so.

“Lurk. Shout for me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Shout. It’s one of my simplest powers. All you do is gather the power at your lips and unleash it. As simple as putting one foot in front of the other.”

“It’s been a busy week. I haven’t had time to practice.”

“You know as well as I do that magic does not work that way. It is like forming a sentence. You don’t think about the words. You simply say it. Either you can perform my magic, or you can’t. A week has come and gone, and yet you share in none of my powers? Why Lurk, you lead me to suspect that you aren’t truly loyal to me.”

Now the sheepishness had gone and was replaced by firm determination. Her head rose sharply, gaze meeting mine.

“He won’t give up,” she declared. “He knows your name, Delilah. He is going to find you, and he is going to make you pay.”

“I’d like to see him try.”

Her sudden defiance posed no interest to me. I suppose I should have expected it from a Pandyssian. But her defiance was more like the sting of a bee than the charge of a Blood Ox. I simply tugged at the thorns about her heart and wound them down through her legs, knees, and ankles. She buckled with a gasp of pain, hands falling to the floorboards to catch herself. I smiled crookedly at the sight of it. Lurk was kneeling before me, willing or not, as the brash assassin ought to be.

She struggled to regain her breath before panting, “You think you’re immune to him because you’re a witch. Guess what? I asked him about his secrets, and guess what. His mother was twice the woman you'll ever be, if not even better. Powers or not. There's a lot more to making your mark on this world than throwing around some witchcraft and hailing yourself a genius.”

“Don't insult me. If she were as great a witch as you say, she would have taught her son better. What is he but a pawn for others? That is not the mark of true witch. Now he is going to die and there is nothing she can do to stop me. That is the definition of insignificance.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” she scoffed. “That woman has been through more than you could possibly know and survived all of it without one lick of witchcraft. If he heard you talk about her like that, you would already be dead.”

“Now, now. It doesn’t do to worship a man you’re about to betray.”

“I never said I hated him. He is worthy of respect, unlike you. Daud would still be a great man, even without his powers, just like his mother. She never had the Mark, or any powers as far as Daud could tell, but she was feared and respected nonetheless. That’s why she’s a better witch than you’ll ever be.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

She chuckled. “Watch out. He knows your name, Delilah.”

“I don't suppose you were the one who gave it to him?”

“No,” she coughed. “That was your little friend. The Outsider.”

“Ridiculous. It was the Outsider who told me of Daud and his paltry band of assassins in the first place. He has watched me begin to implement my cause, and deemed it noble. Why in the world would he play me like that?”

“Oh, you really don’t know the Outsider, do you? I haven’t ever seen him, and I know better than to assume that he’s on my side. He’s a mystery, but even so, I can’t begin to fathom why he gave his Mark to a bitch like you. Look at you. Waltzing in here, throwing your powers about left and right, like it was handed to you on a silver platter. What noble house did you fall out of?”

My thorns tightened, invisibly piercing into her flesh ever more slightly. It knocked the wind from her, and one arm gave way, toppling her sideways to the floor.

“What makes you think that you are worthy of the Outsider’s attentions? You can’t even prove your worth to me, much less him. You are nothing but a weak, small-minded waste of my time, just like your master.”

“He isn’t weak,” she stated through the pain. “He’s just changed. For the better.”

“Change? What in the world will that accomplish? His fate was sealed the moment he murder the Empress. Now look. Plague. The Lord Regent. He’s plunged this city into chaos! There can be no forgiveness for what he has done!”

“He knows that more than anyone. That’s why he’s changed.”

So the hungry wolf had finally lost himself before that delightful guilt, both his and my own. “Poor Daud. His heart was made of glass. All it took was a dead Empress to crack him apart!”

“No, it’s not like that. I’ve always thought that this is a dog eat dog world. Either you’re strong, or you’re dead. There wasn’t any use wasting sympathy on others. That's what he always used to tell me. But recently, his actions have shown me that it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“What could that oaf possibly have to teach you, other than the multitude of ways to kill a defenseless man with your bare hands?”

“Mercy. Understanding. Kindness. He’s deliberately avoided killing anyone while we were hunting you down. I thought that it was just to keep his tracks clean at first, but then… I was careless. I allowed myself to get captured by a group of Overseers. Daud gave us poisoned pins, and told us to use them if we were ever captured, because he wouldn’t come back for us. Yet there he was. He saved me.”

“I’m sure he will regret it as soon as you put him to the blade. You still intend to, I presume?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s too late for doubts.," I hissed. "Events have already been set in motion. However It’s not too late to make amends for your betrayal. I can still give you the power I promised, but you must prove yourself worthy to accept it. The Overseers will arrive tomorrow evening, and I don’t think I need to remind you what Daud does to traitors. You’d best come to terms with those misguided emotions of yours, and quickly. I trust you will make the right decision."

***

News came in of Campbell’s death the very next day. It seemed that a mysterious individual sporting some sort of deathly mask had infiltrated the very depths of Holger Square and ambushed the High Overseer during a late-night meeting with one of the guard captains. Given the skill and motivations of the masked felon, it could only be Corvo.

It was fortunate that I managed to speak with him when I did. A few days later, and the Abbey would have been in too much turmoil to listen to my woeful plight. I found myself mourning his passing not from any emotional connection, but because his corruptibility had made him such a wonderful pawn. I had looked forward to using him more when I became Empress. No matter. His last order had been to assist a Marked witch in her schemes. A fitting end to this man who cared so little for the rules of the Abbey that he was supposed to lead.

There was more to it than that, though. Our masked felon had apparently just disappeared in a flash once Campbell lay dead, or so the rumors went. Most had assumed that this meant that the mysterious assassin was simply as swift as cat. I knew better.  So the Outsider had seen fit to bestow his Mark on yet another, had he? There was something in Lurk's words that stung me at that thought, but I brushed it off. I was certain the Outsider had good reasons for this new development.  I mulled over what might have made him take an interest in Corvo, and how this could disrupt my plans as I set up my ritual to create my garden in the Void.

This was the most complex ritual I had ever attempted. The room in which the street gang had held their loot was the only one large enough to house all the materials. Easels, lanterns, and cryptic carvings straight from the temples of Pandyssia. Finally it was ready. And not a moment too soon.

My sisters watched from the balcony above as I strode about the room, completing each arcane step. While long and complicated, this ritual was not nearly so delicate as the painting ritual I would soon enact.

All in all, it took about an hour and a half before I finished the final step of the ritual. The lanterns howled with their violet light, louder, louder until I could not distinguish between their cries and roar of the Void winds that had encompassed the room. It blew strongly, enough to sway the chandelier and nearly pull me from my feet. This strange wind was sucking me inward, toward an enormous easel where the gateway lay, half real, half painted. The Void was opened, and called me in. With the very painting I had used to create my pocket in the Void held firmly in hand, I stepped into the beckoning gateway.

This garden in the Void was all that I had pictured, and more. Fragments of earth floated about in the endless mist, all coming together to form the island I had envisioned on the canvas. There above it all, towered the mighty tree, its crown so high that the leaves melded in with the mists above. The enormous roots dove deep into the rock beneath it, only further emphasizing its grace in another direction. It was beautiful, and exactly what I wanted it to be, even down to the scenic hollow in its middle.

Before it, curving twin colonnades formed a half-circle around an altar made of the smoothest stone. Candles had already been set up on its either side for the imminent ritual. A courtesy of the shifting Void. And what was just beyond, held aloft by the very vines and branches encircling my wonderful tree, but a frame of precisely the correct shape and size to house my masterwork, once it was completed.

Everything in this garden of mine was all too beautiful. Breathing deeply, I took it all in once again. My creation was any equal to what the old Brigmore gardener could create, and perhaps more. It was part of myself, and I was part of it.

To think, all of this was created through a simple painting, and it would collapse in on itself if the painting were removed from its creation for long enough. I looked over the floating islands. There had to be somewhere out of the way to place the painting.

At the thought of it, a bridge of floating stone materialized between the main island on which I stood and one of the offset rocks. Welcomed by the gesture, I crossed this bridge, and found another frame, again perfectly suited for the surreal, floating landscape I wished to place in it.

As I strode back to the main island, I considered what else I could do to fortify my ritual site, should a wayward Corvo or some other unfortunate interruption occur. My Gravehounds would be all but useless here. How could one bind the forces of the Void to a physical object when inside of it? They would dissipate immediately. The statues on the other hand used my own force as their catalyst. That would certainly work.

Much like the bridge I had just called up, I didn’t have to spend the tedious hours carving them. I simply willed one to appear, and free floating mists of the Void coalesced into cold, unmoving stone. Or at least, the appearance of it. I knew that they were as transient as anything else in this shifting Void.

They were real enough that I began to feel the tingling of someone attempting to speak with me through their connection, however. I leaned in just far enough to hear what was being said.

I sighed when I realized it was Arnold Timsh. What horrid timing.

He was whining like an injured dog about Overseers and about how much he loved me. It flew in one ear and out the other without registering for the most part. Still, it amused me to think that he was still enthralled by the scars of my beautiful thorns.

Finally, he gave up. The lovesick fool trod out of the room and shut the door behind him, from what I could hear of the situation. I returned to surveying my island.

Barely half a minute later, it opened again. This time I heard no footsteps even though the tingling sensation returned.  It was likely just a light-footed servant, but curiosity got the better of me, and I projected myself fully into the statue at Timsh’s estate.  I was met instead with the predatory essence of none other than Daud himself.

This had been the first time that I had actually seen his real face. Both Sokolov and I had done a fair job recreating it, I realized with a surge of pride. He was, on the surface, a man, like any other. Worse for wear than most, given the impressive scar running down the length of one side of his face. Just below that fickle exterior, however, I saw the shaggy, feral beast in the way he moved and held his masses of vicious muscles, always prepared for a strike.

Yes, one could tell at a glance how dangerous this beast could be. But a beast was all he was.

“Who are you?” he asked in his brutish voice.

I figured I would humor him for a bit. The Outsider had given him my name, had he? I wondered what he knew of me. I hadn't told Lurk much about myself, and was likely that I was for the most part still a mystery to him.

“I understand your curiosity. I’m strange. I was a baker’s apprentice in Dunwall Tower, a friend to Jessamine when we were girls. Then--afterward--I made my name as a painter. Now I’m obviously something much greater. I hope that satisfies you, because you won’t get more.”

It was good thing that I had so fortunately been alone in the Void when he began to speak with me. Daud’s name had become almost something of a legend among those of my sisters who had been with us that fateful day in Dunwall. I had saved them from the hordes of frightened rabbits, helpless to save themselves. Yet, though they were now witches, they had failed to forget where they came from. They still spoke of him in their hushed tones. It would simply be easier if this quest of his for the meaning of my name didn’t bring him to Brigmore Manor.

“I ought to just kill you, but I’m going to give you a warning for the sake of my sisters, who were very impressed with you once upon a time. Stay away from me. There are great changes coming and I’ll expect you not to interfere. I have influences in places you won’t expect.”

It reminded me. The Overseers were surely preparing their assault on Daud’s base as we spoke. I had hoped that Daud would have been caught blindly inside of it, but returning into a waiting trap would do just as well.

What precisely was he doing a Timsh’s estate in the first place? Had the good old Barrister become his latest target? I certainly hoped so. It had been a long time waiting for the death of his mother. The old hag certainly clang to life, even in the midst of her coma. Timsh hadn’t been feeding her, now had he? If Daud put an end to either of them, it would make life much easier for me.

“But as for Arnold Timsh? Do what you want. I won’t hold a grudge. I’m done with him,” I spat, recalling his impudence, and with that closed myself off from one doomed aristocrat, and one doomed assassin. I would be awaiting to see both their downfalls this very evening.

***

The Overseers were already present by the time I projected into the Flooded District. Immediately I felt that something was off. There appeared to only be roughly half the number of Overseers as Campbell had promised. Furthermore, it seemed rather too early.

Nevertheless, they had taken the Commerce building. The bodies of Daud’s men were carelessly strewn about the catwalks and rooftops. Below me, I saw a group of Overseers guarding a captured assassin. His hands were bound, and he was further restrained by the constant droning of one of those awful music boxes.

They had done a good job of it, but I wouldn’t be truly satisfied until I saw Daud bleeding out into the rubble.

In an attempt to get a better grasp on the situation, I moved my projection over to the roof of the Commerce building. It was much like blinking, even if I knew it was not. The roof of the Chamber of Commerce had partially collapsed from lack of care. Through it, I could see the remains of the main office, once converted into Daud’s own room, now steadily being converted yet again by the Overseers. They were putting up curtains emblazoned with the Abbey’s symbol. I struggled to find a suitable explanation as to why an invading force would chose to bring along such a specific form of decor. Much less how their commander had successfully turned these brave Overseers into a bunch of flouncing interior decorators.

The commander was easily recognizable by being the one snapping orders, not to mention he was the only one in the room audacious enough to refuse wearing his mask. I strained as close to the opening as I could without revealing myself in order to hear what they were saying.

“Have you located Daud yet?” asked the unmasked commander.

“No, sir. The most we’ve been able to get out of his assassins is that he left this morning on important business and hasn’t returned since. No one has said where or why.”

“Loyal to the end. It doesn’t matter. Daud lives here. He’ll have to return eventually, and then he’ll fall right into our hands. In the meantime, I want you to find Overseer Grant and delay him by any means necessary.”

“Sir? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to tell him that we’ve already taken the commerce building and that he should meet us here? There might still be some assassins about, and when Daud gets here, we’ll want every man we can muster.”

“I’ll not have him steal away my victory. Just think. We’re about to capture the most wanted man in Dunwall. Besides Attano, of course. We’ll be lauded across the entire Abbey!”

“As you wish, Overseer Hume.”

This certainly explained their lacking numbers. So this overzealous Hume wished to take all the glory for himself. He was a fool, but it didn’t matter. He had done his part. It was simply a matter of awaiting Daud’s return. He would face off against a reduced, but hardly insignificant horde of Overseers. Even if he somehow survived and managed to oust the intruders, he would be tired. Easy prey for Lurk’s betrayal.

I returned to my earlier vantage point. Below me stretched the crumbling ruins of a once-proud boulevard. Several Overseers lay there, collapsed onto the ground. Their captive was nowhere to be seen. Looking about, it seemed that their fellows hadn’t noticed anything was amiss.

Then I saw it. A burst of red moved swiftly out of an open window across the way. Daud blinked, reappearing on the remains of a mostly collapsed wall. Though his feet were not far off from the head of an Overseer who passed just below him, he remained completely unnoticed. The assassin blinked from high point to high point with all the grace of a Tyvian dancer and all the brutal savagery of a rabid wolf. None, save me, were the wiser. Did no one think to look up? Or was that something that only occurred to those with the power to blink?

Upon reaching the Chamber of Commerce, Daud slipped in while the Overseers had their backs turned. As much as I wanted to keep an eye on him, I knew the confines of the interior would not suffice to keep me hidden. I simply stood and waited to hear the inevatable sounds of combat that would seal Daud's fate.

It remained silent. I waited longer.

Daud reappeared through the very same window he had entered. Blinking once again over the heads of the unsuspecting Overseers. I wished one would just stretch and lean back already. The suspense was vexing me. But, no. He mounted a wall, then dropped down on the other side to where I could not see him.

A heavy moment later, the entire area burst into action. Assassins appeared in every shadow, tackling Overseers and forcing them to the ground. Fortunately for me, the assassins didn’t take it upon themselves to look up any more than the Overseers had. Or perhaps their masks prevented that. I simply ducked into the recesses of a shadow as the blades clashed.

When the clamor finally died down, I took stock of the situation. The assassins had been swift and accurate, dealing with their opponents almost surgically. A great many of the Overseers had had the tables turned on them. They kneeled, wrists bound behind their backs, in a circle of the triumphant assassins.

I was thoroughly displeased by this turn of events. How had this man so easily slipped through the cracks, freed his men and taken back the Commerce Building? He was weak and foolish. Broken apart by his own tragic guilt. Not like me. Yet there he stood, speaking with his second in command. At least I still had that card hidden up my sleeve. It would have to do.

They were already engaged in conversation when I moved my projection to the ledge overlooking them. The words that were coming from dear Lurk’s mouth were not the ones I wanted to hear.

“I told Delilah where we were hidden,” she spoke with a trembling tone. “She wanted me to turn on you.”

“You did this,” said Daud. It was a simple statement. Reserved, but I could feel the sting of his lofty disappointment.

“But I can’t go through with it,” continued Lurk, her head drooped in an absurd display of shame. What was there to be embarrassed of? She was a follower, soon to be a leader, if she had half a mind for ambition. It wasn’t as if this man was her father. They were both hardened killers. Why was now any time to forget that fact?

“Stupid child. All you had to do was cut his throat,” I said.

Just like that, Daud and the rest of his assassins turned to look at me. There was no sense hiding myself any longer, and some sense of delighted relief filled me as I looked on into the hard eyes of the man who was setting himself up for certain disaster.

I enjoyed the sensation. It was as if I was the lead role on center stage of an opera, singing out her most beautiful aria. I was the sort who, when her part was done, gained a standing ovation. But to these worthless assassins, the part I played was not the sweet, innocent maiden, helpless before her fate. No, to them I was something far more terrible. I was the dark queen of the night, here to drag them all down into the shadows of the Void where they belonged.

“He deserves better. I was an idiot to listen to you,” said Lurk.

“So that’s your choice then,” I replied. But whatever she felt was useless before my thorns. I reached out for them, willing the poison to force her blade forward into her master's neck... and found none of them there.

What? Where had they gone? I searched again, and the surface of her heart was barren of prickles as ever. This had never happened before.

But now was no time to display weakness. My face betrayed not a drop of that sickening vulnerability, just as it should have. Instead, I turned to our guilt-ridden assassin in order to make a hasty, but tactful retreat. Thanks to Lurk's failure, there was nothing else I could do.

“Daud, her betrayal would have been the sweetest, but either way, the Brigmore Witches will be your end. You should have forgotten my name the day you heard it.”

Lurk removed her mask to speak her next words to her beloved master. As if that would make her more sincere. She was a traitor, and the only thing that remained for her was sweet death.

“I think it was always understood between us, that I’d see my moment and take your place. I moved to early. You weren’t weak, like I thought. I’m only sorry I didn’t pick a better ally. Delilah made contact with the Overseers. I thought, between the three of us, we’d have you dead to rights.”

“We can blame the zealots for that. Overseer Hume was too quick to move.”

“My life is yours now,” she said to Daud. The girl unsheathed her blade and held it out before him as she took to one knee. “Kill me or let me live. If it even matter to you.”

No begging for forgiveness. No whining how it wasn’t her fault, and how I had made her do it.

Even if that wasn’t too far from the truth.

She simply knelt there. Not out of pain and suffering, as she had before me, but from something far crueler. My physical body back at the manor was on the other side of the building from my painting of Lurk, so I could not possess her and see what she felt, but I was quite willing to bet that the child had been overcome by the same gnawing guilt that constantly tore away at Daud’s heart. The horror of seeing what you have wrought and realizing what a terrible person you’ve become.

Daud surely couldn’t forgive himself of that, though he was oh, so foolishly trying. He certainly wouldn’t be able to forgive her.

I waited patiently for the glorious, bloody Knife of Dunwall to take the sword she had offered him and stab it trough her very heart, just as he had done to Jessamine.

The seconds felt like minutes.

“I forgive you.”

This hadn’t been what I had expected from the brutish beast, who rent and tore the fabric of society apart with red-clad brutality. It was more than just surprising, to see him stand there and not take a life, but grant it. It was…

“Touching,” I found myself saying, then quickly added, “And pathetic. If I see either of you again, I’ll tear out your stone cold hearts and walk in your skin!”

I released my projection. I didn’t want to look at that farcical scene any more, with all the reeking emotions that hung in the air like a choking fog. Let the fool play at morality, if he liked. It still didn’t change his nature. Vile, blood-soaked murderer! His actions would still tear himself apart. That was the fate he had made for himself, and there was no escaping it now.

As for me, there was painting to be done.


	21. Chapter 21

“If it’s a battle Daud wants, then it’s a battle he’ll get. This is why I’ve chosen you. Go to Dunwall and impede him by whatever means necessary. Are you all up to this task?”

Of course I knew they’d say yes. They always did.

“Yes, absolutely, Lady Delilah,” Emma said, just as I had predicted. Since she was among those who had already met Daud, I had appointed her in charge of the small group before me. “But how do you expect us to get past the quarantine?”

“That is a problem for non-witches, isn't it, dear Emma? I would recommend you sneak in through the sewer system. Even if they have some poor watchman patrolling down there, you could easily avoid him. Certainly, it isn’t the most pleasant of entry ways, but it runs under the entire city. You would be free to appear and disappear anywhere in Dunwall. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how Daud manages to sneak about the city undetected.”

“You think of everything, Lady Delilah,” said Sybil fixedly.

“So I do. Now, be sure to take one of my statues with you. I want to hear updates on what Daud is doing. The statue has been packaged into a crate in the foyer. Now, go.”

They blinked from my sight without hesitation. Between the lot of them and their powers Daud was already good as dead. The sisters whom I had selected were all talents with witchcraft. I should have just sent my own to deal with him in the first place, rather than relying on the incompetency of the Overseers.

Of course, That was only one of the problems facing me. The other was Corvo Attano.  I would never be able to take successful possession of Emily so long as he was around. However, I would need another tactic to deal with this one. Daud fought alongside his assassins. I had to counter a group with a group of my own. The masked felon, on the other hand, fought alone, melding in and out of the shadows. Sending multiple witches against him would just make them easier to spot and avoid. What I need was an individual who could remain silent for long enough to approach him from behind.

Turning the corner into the hallway, I met with Melina. It dawned on me. She  was perfect for the job. She had come upon Timsh and myself so quietly that I hadn’t even realized she was there until I had turned around.  Not to mention that this was a difficult task, one easy to reject, even with my coven's mutual respect. B ut Melina was very loyal to me.

“Melina, are you busy at the moment?”

“No, my lady. What is it that you need?”

“I have a task that I believe you to be well suited for.”

“It would be my pleasure to serve,” she said with glistening eyes.

“I have just sent some of our sisters to Dunwall. They will be putting a stop to Daud and his assassins. I want you to join them, but not to deal with Daud. No, I have a special mission for you. Corvo Attano must be eliminated.”

Then the glimmer was gone.

“What? My lady, are you sure? He is a terror with a blade, and if what you say about the Mark is true… I was a maidservant. What chance do I have against him?”

“Fear not, sweet Melina. I have faith in you. You are skilled at remaining silent and unseen. An innocent maidservant, hardly worth a second glance. All you have to do is blink behind him and slit his throat before he even notices you.”

“I don’t think I can agree with you on that, Delilah. I was always the worst at hide and seek when I was a child.”

I rolled my eyes. There was no time for this. We had to act. “Are you questioning my judgement? I have already chosen you.”

“No, not at all, my lady. Only, we don’t even know where he is.”

“That is something I have thought of as well. Honestly. I am your leader. I have put my trust in you. You owe it to me to return that trust.,” I said impatiently.

“Yes, I’m sorry, my lady. You have taken us far. I don’t doubt you know what you are doing.”

“That’s right. Now, as to finding Corvo, that will be easier than you think. That man has a grudge against the people who conspired against his beloved Empress. Campbell has already fallen to him. It is only a matter of time until our masked felon appears at the gates of Dunwall Tower itself. Look for a staircase on the southern side, leading up from the water. It’s old and disused. You’ll be able to get in easily that way. Stay there until Corvo appears.”

“But if I get in, how will I survive? What will I eat?”

“The kitchen produces far more than it needs and throws out the remains. A disgusting habit, when they could be handing it out to the poor and starving of the city. I’ll be sure to change that when I’m Empress.”

She remained silent, taking stock of everything I had told her. I wished the girl would just say ‘yes’ already.

“Do we really have to kill the Lord Protector? What if he became our ally instead? He’s not like Daud. He is honorable man.”

I could only sigh. Some people could be so slow. Then again, what did I expect of the girl? She was the daughter of a small-minded dullard, and it showed.

“Whether or not he is honorable is not relevant here. We can’t have him realizing something is different about daddy’s little girl once I complete the ritual.”

“Daddy’s little…? You mean the rumors about him and the Empress were true?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’d never be our ally would he? He’d be a good father, even if that meant dooming the Empire into stagnation.”

“Precisely.”

“That sort of makes him like my own father, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t let your mind be clouded by sentimentality. There is much more than that at stake here.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten that. I’ll do what you say. I have to. It’s for the good of us all. Including my own father. I can live with taking the life of someone else’s if that’s what I must do.”

To my satisfaction, she finally set off on her way to join with the witches handling my statue in the foyer below. Halfway there, she turned about and returned to me.”

“My lady, I have one last question.”

“Speak,” I said irritably.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, how do you know so much about Dunwall Tower?”

“That is none of your concern. Now, go, and don’t return until the way has been cleared for my ascension to the throne.”

***

“These plans of yours are getting more and more complicated,” said Brunhilde, arms crossed. “The more intricate and delicate they become, the more I fear that they will all come crashing down around you. And that will only bring our sisters down with you.”

Just beyond, Breanna nodded slowly to that. Unlike calm and collected Brunhilde, her face appeared troubled, her lips pursed and gaze fixed upon me.

“Trust me, dear Brunhilde. When have I once failed you? My genius had led me to this point. Where others would fail, I have succeeded.”

“What about Lurk and the Overseers?” asked Breanna.

“Minor setbacks, not failures. Look at it this way. It is like painting. Even the greatest of masterworks starts out with nothing more than a blank canvas and the artist’s vision. We start by laying down abstract areas of color. Any onlooker would be confused as to how such a mess could ever turn into a beautiful composition. But if they only believed in the artist and waited, they would see everything come to life before their eyes.”

“Genius isn’t everything,” shrugged Breanna.

“Then what is? Birthright? I can’t accept that.”

“Just because you're smart doesn't mean you're immune to failure.”

“If I might extend the metaphor,” interjected Brunhilde, “I would like to speak of my own craft. In weaving a pattern is formed from the position of the threads in each row. Once the weft thread passes through them, that part of the pattern is set. I take it that in painting, if you make a mistake, you can simply paint over it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve ever had a close look at one of those industrial looms, but they can possess thousands of threads. A single mistake may be lost in there, and the pattern returned to normal, but what about a larger mistake? Or many smaller ones? It’s a harsh fact to face, but what you choose to do will affect the rest of the fabric. It’s not something you can simply go back and fix.”

“Just like no one can save Jessamine now,” said Breanna. Brunhilde gave her a sideways look with the traces of a sorrowful agreement on her face.

“What does Jessamine have to do with any of this? It was a tragedy that she lost her life, but we must move on. We must.”

“Now, after the Empress’s death, is when you finally say that?”

I looked Breanna sharply in the eye. She was always the wild mare amongst us. I had learned to accept that. She was always beautiful, and always just out of reach, but this? Breanna didn’t know what she was talking about, and the words stung more than I cared to admit. It was as if I was being judged by her, this unfortunate creature to whom I and I alone had given freedom. What right did she have to question me? But question she would, as she always did.

“This conversation is unproductive,” I said simply. “Now let’s get to contacting Emma. She should be in Dunwall by now.”

I focused myself and projected. Sure enough, Emma awaited me on the other side. Her head perked up when she saw the statue begin to shift. Of course the statute itself, being made of stone, did not actually move. It was nothing more than an illusion, yet another mystery from the Void.

“My lady,” she said, bowing. The ground beneath her feet was filthy and covered with some sort of green slime. This must have been the sewer system. I was glad I was not the one who had to traverse it.

“I see you’ve made your way into Dunwall. Do you have news of Daud?”

“Not yet. However, we do bring other news. It seems that the masked felon who killed the High Overseer struck again, this time at the Pendleton twins while they were visiting the Golden Cat. They were two of the Lord Regent’s biggest supporters in Parliament. The Regent has put out an enormous sum for the masked felon’s arrest. Even more than Corvo’s.”

“I take it that the regent doesn’t want people thinking they’re the same person? Or otherwise is too foolish to realize it.”

“So Corvo’s been to the Cat? Do you think he’s rescued Emily?” asked Breanna.

“Possibly. I will watch her through the portrait and see what she’s up to as soon as I finish here.”

“Before you go, my lady, I have one last question,” said Emma.

“What is it?”

“It’s Melina. She joined up with us and said that she was sent on a special mission. You wanted her to sneak into Dunwall Tower to assassinate Corvo. Is that really true?”

“Yes.”

“What?” exclaimed Breanna. “You said that you had found a way to deal with Corvo, but I never heard anything about actually killing him! We all know he’s innocent. Why should he have to die?”

Not this conversation again. Were my sisters truly so poorly dedicated to carrying out my master plan to save the Empire? I had asked for only their trust, and now, when I was so close that I could almost taste the crown, they were giving out on me.

I sighed and prepared to explain this again. I only had to keep them by my side for a few more days. Then I would be Empress and I would prove their faith warranted.

“Corvo could ruin our plans. He would never have laid a hand on the Empress, but he could still be dangerous to us. We are a coven, Breanna. You must think of the safety of the group first.”

“I could tell you the same thing,” she said. “Melina is hardly the most capable of us. She’s barely more than a girl, for the Outsider’s sake, and you’ve just sent her into one of the most secure places of the Empire. She is such a joyful, sincere young woman. I fear you’ve doomed her to a premature death.”

“Have you forgotten that she is a witch?”

“I told you that genius isn’t everything. Neither is witchcraft. It won’t do her any good if a squad of well-trained guards find her. In fact, it might make things even worse. I know.”

“Breanna, do you mean to tell me that my gift of witchcraft has changed your life in a negative sense?”

“No. ...Well, maybe.”

How was it that Breanna could both infuriate me and plunge me into despair simultaneously with just a few words? I realized that, deep down, I truly didn’t understand this woman, no matter how she might have seduced me.

“You told me that you wanted to be a great witch. What could be a greater use for what I have given you than joining with me to help save thousands of lives from the the state of the Empire as it plunges itself into ruin?”

“It all sounds so simple when you say it like that. And it makes me feel... like your slave. I hate being made to feel that way.”

“Lady Delilah?” asked Emma through the projection. “Are you arguing with Breanna?”

With a start I realized I had lost my composure. I had raised my voice and was speaking through gritted teeth. More importantly, I had made the blunder of allowing one of my sisters to see that.

At once, I had reasserted my restraints. It was of no matter how Breanna made me feel. Not anymore. I couldn't let it cripple me. All that mattered was the throne. It would be worth it in the end. I would set everything right, and then I would never have to feel this way ever again.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all over now.”

“Yes. It’s all over now,” Breanna concurred.

She left the room in pointed strides. Brunhilde watched her with a raised brow and half-shut eyes as she went. I knew that sort of silence meant that the gears in her mind where turning away, but where they were turning to was an equal mystery to Breanna's strange ways.

It sickened me to think how little I actually knew about such matters.

***

Emily certainly wasn’t at the Golden Cat anymore. Instead she sat at the booth of a mostly deserted pub. Somebody had left her with a set of crayons and a few sheets of paper. She scribbled her masterpiece onto one of them with exhilarated strokes, using the point of the crayon rather than the side, like the child she was. There, depicted in all its lack of proportion and perspective was some sort of tower flanked by poor depictions of flowers. I had been better than this at her age. She would never make a good artist. Not like me. Yet here she was, that special child, simply waiting to be handed the throne as if it meant nothing.

A wiry woman clad in green servant’s clothes approached and laid her handful of books down on the table. She took the opposite side of the booth from Emily.

“I don’t want to do maths,” said Emily without even looking up.

“You haven’t even tried these problems yet. It could be fun.”

“No it won’t.”

“I need your help, Emily. I was just counting up a crate full of whiskey bottles. I know each one holds twelve, but when I looked in one of them, I only counted seven bottles, even though I know it was full last week. Lord Pendleton must have drank the rest. How many bottles must he have taken?”

“Five.”

“Very good Emily. You answered quite quickly.”

“I didn’t figure it out through maths. I’ve just been counting how much he drinks.”

“I really need to speak to him about his bad habits. Anyway, let’s do a problem completely unrelated to the Hound Pits. A farmer has a field of cabbages--”

“I don’t like cabbages.”

“Okay then. There are five battleships in a row,” she said, and Emily’s head finally raised up to meet her tutor’s gaze, “and two rows of the same length behind them. How many ships are there?”

“Fifteen.”

“That’s right. Now, there are six soldiers lined up in a column, and there are nine rows in total. How many soldiers are there?”

“Um, forty-two?”

“No, Emily.”

“Pardon my interruption,” said a man’s voice, “but I am headed into the sewers to recover my rat traps. I need you to watch the place while I’m gone. Don’t let anyone in uninvited.”

“Of course, Admiral Havelock. If I might ask, what do you need the rats for?” she asked, turning toward the tall and ageing man who had come up to the table.

“The Royal Physician is a stubborn man. We’ll need some way to get information out of him when Corvo returns.”

Anton? Here? And they were planning to torture him with those ghastly plague rats? No. I was supposed to hate Anton. He was my enemy, the greatest inventor of the Empire, sending it evermore into oblivion, even when he knew the cost of our dependence on whale oil. He made that choice. He deserved whatever he got, even if it was torture. The thought didn't make me feel any better.

Presumably, this meant that Corvo wasn’t merely after revenge. He had joined up with a counter conspiracy of its own. From the looks of things, it seemed they they were planning to dissolve the Lord Regent’s power, and then place Emily on the throne. They had no idea they would be crowning me instead.

“Oh,” said Callista shyly. “I don’t want to know the details of that, and I would appreciate if you wouldn’t talk about such things in front of the girl.”

“I want to watch!” cried Emily.

“Do you see what I mean?”

***

Breanna was waiting for me when I released my projection. She stood rigid and stern, her thin lips pressed tightly together.

“Delilah, we need to talk.”

“The girl is safe in the hands of her darling father and a group of would-be conspirators.”

“No. Not about her. At least, not just about her. It’s about Melina, and the sisters you sent straight into Daud’s path.”

“I thought we’d been over this, Breanna. This is necessary for our plans to succeed, and they are powerful witches. They have nothing to fear from Daud.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then at least they’ll weaken him. Their sacrifices won’t be in vain.”

“So you don’t truly believe yourself when you say that you can stop Daud.”

“What? That’s not--”

“And if you can’t stop Daud, then what makes you think you’ll be secure on your throne? You’re afraid of other people having more power than you do. Am I wrong?”

“Yes. You are wrong. No one, not even the other bearers of the Mark, can match me. What they may have in magic and blade skills, I more than make up for with my genius. Look how far I've come already, and look how much farther I am prepared to go. I will save the Empire from a Panydssian disaster. No one can stop me at that.”

“Really? What if this plague is the disaster you keep talking about? You haven't done anything to stop it because you can't. You have a lot less power than you know, and  your unwavering insistence about that proves otherwise to me.”

“Then you are mistaken. After all, you weren’t given the Mark. I was, because I am worthy of it. As for the plague, I'll sponsor research for a cure, but I must have the throne first.”

She laughed. “The Mark doesn't give you the power to cure the plague, I see. Just to strut around pretending you're better than everyone else. I take it this means you didn’t believe me when I said I would become the greatest witch I could be? Perhaps even better than you?”

“Do you want the truth?” I asked. My patience was wearing thin for Breanna after today’s events. She possessed a beauty like none other, one that haunted my dreams, but that didn’t grant her the right to speak to me as she did.

“No, I never believed you could ever be my equal. You’re simply an unmarked woman, dependent on me to be anything at all. You should remember that.”

She laughed that disheartening laugh that she had mastered so well and leaned against the wall. “You know what, Delilah? I can't believe I didn’t see this before, but you remind me all too much of my father. Even down to your word choice. I can’t tell you how many times he said that I’d never be anything. That I was just a useless woman, and owed everything to him.”

My eyes narrowed. “That sounds like exactly the sort of controlling, cold-hearted men that I am in opposition of. Yet you try to compare us?”

“I do, and it’s not inaccurate, either. I haven’t gathered up the courage to tell this to anyone before, but here it goes. My mother died in childbirth. He hated me for that. Said I had robbed him of any chance of having a son. I have three older sisters, you see. They told me stories about how he went around collecting runes and bone charms all throughout the pregnancy in the mistaken belief that they would ensure I was born a boy. I don’t know if it was the heretical artifacts that drove him mad or the fact that I let him down, but he reminded me almost every day about how worthless I was. He told me that since I had failed to be born a son, I owed him total obedience. He never let me make my own decisions. When I got old enough to set off on my own, I headed off to Dunwall and never looked back. That was the first choice I ever made in my life. I can’t tell you how good it felt. I made bad choices later. That’s how I got trapped in the Golden Cat. Unable to choose yet again. I’ve noticed that there’s a pattern here.”

I stared at her silently for a while.

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“Maybe I am. Delilah, ever since I first met you, I was jealous. Here was a truly free woman, allowed to make her own way in life. A talented painter, well-read, headstrong and not afraid to be herself. How I wished I could be you. I see now that sentiment was mistaken. What is going to happen to Emily Kaldwin’s mind when you take possession of her?”

“It will be consigned to the Void, most likely.”

“Forever? That’s a horrible fate for a child! Even more so if she doesn’t have any choice in the matter!”

“It is the only way to save the Empire from itself.”

“Is that what you keep telling yourself so that you don’t have to feel with consequences of what you’re about to do?”

“Dear Breanna, you know as well as I do, whether you can admit it to yourself or not. Emily Kaldwin is not fit to rule. I am the only hope for the Isles.”

“So possessive. You just have to control everything, don’t you? When somebody does something you don’t like, you simply force them in line with your will. Just like what you did to Fyodor.”

I stopped. Breanna was indeed judging me through those harsh and tired eyes.

“Yes. I know what really happened. When I returned to the hotel room, I found it reeking of oil paints. The Metaphysika Mysterium was open. The contents of that page were most illuminating.”

The smell of oil paints? I had worked with the medium so long that I had become accustomed to the scent. I forgot how strongly they smelled to others. Had Breanna really known what I had done all these years?

“The funny thing about the whole affair is that we were just playing around. We both knew it could never go anywhere. The heir to a profitable Tyvian ore mine and a former prostitute from Gristol? It would never have worked. I only liked him because he was exotic, good looking, and dressed well, and I’m sure he thought the same of me. If you had just left us alone, we would have burnt ourselves out and gone our separate ways.”

My fists clenched. “I freed you from a life of servitude to men, and that is how you repaid me?”

“We were supposed to be friends, not business partners,” she countered coolly. “At first I was furious about what you had done. I planned to abandon you. Then I remembered that kiss the night before. You wanted me, didn’t you? You must have been lonely, bad childhood and the recent death of your mother, weighing you down. I started to feel bad for you and decided to give you another chance. And you know what? I really thought that you were getting better, too. The way you saved Brunhilde and offered all those other miserable women the power to break free from their bonds. Then there was all that noble talk of saving the Empire and protecting thee natural world. To think, when Timsh put you through the same thing I’ve gone through so many times at the Cat, I was just about ready to forgive you. I couldn’t have been more mistaken,” she spat her final sentence.

It stung yet again, this time even deeper than I could have imagined. I could feel tears pushing at the corners of my eyes, and I doubted I could keep them in.

“I loved you,” I whispered.

The tears broke, running in ugly rivulet down my pallid face. It was too late to stop them.

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I could never love a woman. Even if I had, the choices you’ve made would have driven me away. You keep making these horrible, horrible decisions. I hate it. First it was Sokolov, abandoning him without a word like that, despite how much he cared about you. How many woman do you think he sees as something other than potential bedmates? You? The Empress? And yet, you just went and threw it all in his face as if he didn’t matter to you. Then you failed to save the Empress from Daud even though she was right there in front of you. You say you didn’t know her, but I don’t believe you. She was your childhood friend, wasn’t she? And you just let her die. Now, what you’re about to do to her daughter… it’s unspeakable!”

“It was my birthright, before Jessamine…”

“Don’t you talk to me about rights! Nothing gives you the right to condemn a child to eternal suffering in the Void! That’s why I’m going to Dunwall to join the sisters there. I don’t care if you order me not to. It’s my choice. I’m going. First, I’ll assist them in taking down Daud. I fear what will happen to my sisters if I’m not there to stop him. But then--oh, then-- I’m going to find Corvo Attano and tell him exactly what you plan to do to his daughter!”

“Traitor,” I hissed through my hot tears as they began to evaporate under a boiling anger. It was a welcome relief. At least rage was a powerful emotion.

“Hardly. You’re the traitor, Delilah.”

At this last slight, I sprang forward, sword drawn. She didn’t move, simply allowing me to force the blade straight through her.

But now ruby droplets fell.

I caught the one brief look of vile, sneering satisfaction as she faded from view.

Projection? It couldn’t be. Only I was able to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Witchcraft-enhanced statues. The original cordless phones.


	22. Chapter 22

I finished my painting session for the day. I stepped back. It was almost complete. Little Emily floated about the center of the canvas, waiting for the finishing touches tomorrow. Then I would be Empress and all the pain and cruelty of my life would simply dissolve away. The world would be set right again.

It was a race between me, Daud, and Corvo.

Speaking of which, it was about time to see how Emma had handled my last instructions. Now was not the time to allow anything to go wrong. I gathered myself and projected into the statue in Dunwall’s sewers. Emma was waiting there for me, just as she said she would. As always, she knelt before me, her master, albeit in  a manner more mechanical and haggard than usual. From this, I could only take that something big had happened.

“Tell me what is happening in Dunwall. Where is Daud?”

“My lady, it seems he managed to infiltrate Coldridge prison. He freed a prisoner by the name of Lizzie  Stride. That name belongs to the feral leader of a band of river smugglers and pirates that plagues the Wrenhaven. With the death of the Empress it seems their audacity has increased, and their criminal activities have been emboldened. No matter what, they always seemed to be one step ahead of the law, possibly because the Watch didn’t have any ships of their own and the navy found it beneath itself to intervene. It was a minor miracle that they even were able to catch her at all."

What could Daud want with her? Was it possible that he intended to use one of her smuggling vessels to get past the quarantine to Brigmore Manor? That certainly couldn’t be permitted.

“I trust you have taken steps to prevent him from using her boat to sail upriver?” I asked Emma earnestly.

“Indeed my Lady. We orchestrated an incident between her gang and the Hatters over on the other end of Draper's Ward. They don't even suspect our involvement. The gangs at at each other’s throats. Daud is mired here.”

“Good. See that it stays that way. We are so close to saving the Empire. He will not stop us now. He cannot. Must not.”

“You’ll have the time you need. And the portrait of the girl, is it…?”

Why did they always seek to peer in on my plans? Hadn’t I told my sisters multiple times that they need only trust in me and I would lead them to the bright future they so longingly desired? It was good enough for the majority of my sisters, so why wasn't it acceptable to Emma all of the sudden?

“The painting will be finished when it is finished," I snapped. "It is not your part to question me, only to keep Daud from reaching me before the ritual is complete. Unless you plan to betray me, as Breanna did. On that matter, you have taken care of her now, haven’t you?”

“Excuse me, my lady. You’re right, I should not have asked,” she replied in choked words.

Emma rose, I noted, without my leave, nor with answering me as to whether or not she had dealt Breanna as I had ordered her to. We could not permit a traitor into our midst, and yet, she had been so slow to follow.

Not that it mattered in the grand of scheme of things. I took it by the lack of mention by Melina that Corvo had not yet arrived at Dunwall Tower. He would certainly appear shortly. Bit by bit the Regency was being dismantled by the efforts of our masked felon. Soon the Lord Regent would be exposed to Corvo’s assault, and so to would the Lord Protector be exposed in turn to mine. I was certain Breanna had no clue how to find Corvo before then, given how he mysteriously appeared and disappeared around the city. By the time she would succeed in tracking him down, he would already be dead and I would be Empress.

I was brought back to the sewers by the sound of an object flying swiftly through the air. Before me, Emma let out a grunt of pain and crumpled to the ground.

And who else would be the origin of that flying object, other than the despised animal himself, Daud. I had higher hopes for Emma and the others, but it looks like they had failed to stop him before they even began.  Though I had previously considered offering several of them positions in my court once I became Empress, I found that I had suddenly strongly considering revoking that offer.

My hated pursuer stepped into the room, reloading the crossbow attached to the underside of his wrist. He stepped around Emma's fallen body, probably failing to recall that they had ever met. I wondered if she was dead, or simply rendered unconscious. Either way, it didn't matter. I didn't want to see her back at Brigmore again.

As for Daud, after all that foolish man had lost, he was still determined to seek me out. He should have realized that I was too much of a threat for his fragile heart to handle long ago. Yet here he was, again before me in all his folly. Stubborn, but futile.

“Daud. Lurk told me you wouldn’t give up. Even as she knelt before me and gave me all your secrets,” I told him with an internal smile at the recollection of his recent betrayal, even if it had gone awry. “I know what you’re doing, Daud. I know what that Mark on your hand is. Just like the one on mine. I know everything you can do and it won’t matter. Four of us chosen, but history will only remember one. Delilah.”

“If they remember any of us,” he replied, just before I released my projection.

His words were gruff and low. Filled with sinking remorse and numb detachment from his pain. But it was still there. It always would be.  Was he doing this because he thought he could make up for what he had done to the Imperial family and how it had plunged Dunwall into chaos? There was no forgiveness for him. All the acts he had committed up to this point had tangled him within his own web of deception and cruelty. Struggle as he might, he could not escape the web he had woven. That is why he would fail.

Let him come. Let him face his own reflection in a mirror. It would only destroy him further.

***

That very afternoon, we were beset by an intruder. Not Daud and his assassins, but a pair of lowly Overseers. It was a laughable attempt. They came without their beloved music boxes, and thus were simple to capture. They were accosted and tossed into the former smoking lounge for interrogation.

“Did you Overseers honestly think you could just waltz in here as if you owned the place and then leave just as easily?" I remarked snidely when I came to deal with the two would-be intruders. " I hate your kind. You may think you're the pinnacle of justice, but you represent everything that is wrong with this world. Now, I will have what you know about us and why you came here.”

Naturally, he refused to answer like the idiot he was. “Heathens! We’ll never tell any of you filthy heretics anything!”

“Will you, now? It would be so much simpler if you were to comply. You are interfering with great plans, ones that even small men like you would benefit from if you just allowed them to play out.”

“Silence, witch! I won’t let your poisoned words coerce me!”

I leaned back in unsurprised annoyance to consider the two of them. The one on the right was slumped against the wall, hurriedly reciting his strictures with frightened exuberance, while the one on the left glared defiantly at us, waiting to refute my next statement. Clearly the braver of the two had been the one to start shouting off. His mind was too far gone to the Abbey’s brainwashing. What he said was true. I would never get any information out of him.

The other looked as if he hadn't quite had the fear beaten out of him by the Abbey's brutal training period. I began formulating just how to loosen up his trembling tongue.

In the meantime, the loudmouthed one had grown still. “Wait,” he said. “I recognize you.”

I turned back to face him. Beneath that golden mask, his eyes were surely spread wide. He was pressed firmly against the wall behind him, as if he had realized just how dangerous I truly was and sat up straight in an unintentional sign of respect.

“You were brought into Holger Square on accusations of witchcraft, but the High Overseer pardoned you.”

“You remember that incident, do you?” I said in amusement.

“How couldn’t I? Everyone at the Abbey knows Campbell is corrupt. Letting you go when we had such solid evidence against you was strange, even for him.”

“I hear he’s dead now. A shame. I rather liked him.” This was certainly an interesting coincidence. I enjoyed the reversal of being the one doing the interrogating this time. All things would come full circle.

“Martin was right. You did have something to hide. I can’t believe we let a heretic like you walk!”

The comment was worthy of a visible sneer. “Not only did you fools let a heretic go free, but you let free a heretic of the most frightening sort. You see, I have not spent all my time enacting perverse rituals off somewhere in a basement in the vain hope that the forces of the Void will speak to me. No. I have been bestowed with my powers by the very Outsider himself.”

I allowed the ghostly pallor to retract from my left hand as I held its back side up in clear view of the pair.

“You’re a monster,” he gasped.

“A monster? Is that what you call anything beyond your petty level of understanding?"

“I call you a monster because that’s what you are. Campbell needed a scapegoat after we let you go, so we had to find the man who reported you. We tortured and executed an innocent man because of you!”

“He should not have reported me in the first place. Then he would still be alive.”

“See? This is what makes you a monster. You don’t feel even a shred of guilt for ruining someone else’s life!”

“Empty words from one of the Empire’s many oppressors. I am not here to destroy the Isles, as you so ignorantly believe, but to save them.”

“You’re in no position to save anyone! Witchcraft corrupts all. You’re just too far gone to see it. You talk about saving people, but you don’t know what that means. My great uncle, now there was a savior. If he were here, I’d tell you exactly what he’d do to you.”

“Oh? Just what would your esteemed great uncle think he could do to us?”

“He studied the Void. The other Overseers called him a heretic for it, but his research was going to save us all. He took heartless agents of the Outsider just like you and drained them thoroughly until he learned all their wretched secrets. Then he did away with them so they could never hurt anyone else. You deserve the same fate.”

“Let me guess what happened next. He was betrayed by his own brothers and committed to the very gallows where he had ended so many other lives.”

“How did you--”

“Please. Do you think I haven’t read the Metaphysika Mysterium? I have a copy of my very own. It was certainly a tremendous boon to my early heretical career. I don’t suppose that your great uncle ever imagined it could prove so beneficial to one such as I?”

“You fucking blasphemous bitch! You’ll pay for your heresy!” I wondered if he was foaming at the mouth under that mask, like a rabid dog.

He lunged forward, despite the fact that he was helplessly surrounded by a masterful witch and a handful of her coven. Even as he reached out for my neck, three simultaneous barrages of darts flew into his flesh. The damage was great enough to permanently render his arms and legs completely useless. Not that he would get a chance to recover in the first place. He had been opened up in too many places, and it was only a matter of time until he succumbed to blood loss.

“You won’t succeed,” he said after a minute through a mouthful of pain. Stubborn little fool. “Our sisters in the Oracular Order saw you. You’re going to do something terrible to young Lady Kaldwin, wherever the poor girl is. We can’t let you go through with it. As soon as my brothers realize we aren’t coming back, they’ll take this place by storm and put you all down like the bitches you are.” Funny. He was the one who was about to die like a rabid dog.

“Not if your partner tells us their plans first.”

“You won’t get him to talk. He’s as well trained as I am.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. After all, he’ll be aiding a good cause. Let me tell you a story my old mentor once told me. A long time ago, there was a magnificent civilization located on the Pandyssian continent. They were truly ingenious. Their cities were constructed according to pre-planned grids and fashioned of perfectly uniform stones. They even had the technical expertise to build a fully functioning sewer system under their great cities. Not anything like the haphazard labyrinth of pipes and tunnels we have, but a series of elegant waterways, just as orderly as the city above. Then something happened. Pandyssia became uninhabitable to humans. These great builders and thinkers were forced to simply abandon their mighty civilization, and forget all about the vast array of knowledge they had achieved. Now, their descendants live their meaningless lives on the islands off the coast. They’ve forgotten all of their culture and history, and only survive by eating the flesh of their fellow man. I am here to make certain that whatever catastrophe destroyed them doesn’t befall us as well. For all I know, it may already be here, in the form of the Rat Plague. I must act quickly and decisively to save the Isles. I will not allow you to get in my way. We don’t want to end up cannibalistic savages, do we?”

I pulled his chin up, forcing him to look me in the eyes as I glanced at his partner to the right. “Do we?”

***

Whatever the Overseers thought they could do to me, it was too late. Emily Kaldwin’s delicate figure had formed itself in innocent delicacy from the vibrant pigments I had laid down on the canvas. It was complete. By the time anyone mobilized against me, I would already be Empress and there would be nothing they could do about it.

What then, I wondered. Presumably I would wait patiently at the pub for Havelock and his other conspirators to unwittingly put me on the throne. After that I would have to find ways to deal with them, surely. I harbored no delusions that they would be willing to give me any more free rein than the Regent and his men.

More importantly, what about my sisters? Could I really find a place for a bunch of disgruntled witches in my new government?  The next few steps would be critical. But for now, all that mattered was completing the ritual. The rest would all come together once I had taken my rightful place on the throne. That was the way the world should be.

Brunhilde joined me in the studio as I stood in contemplation. “Delilah, I would speak with you.”

“You’ve shown up at just the right time. I have just finished the painting. The ritual will commence at once.”

“You are getting ahead of yourself, Delilah. That is not what I wish to talk to you about.”

“Then what is it, Brunhilde?” I was starting to dislike where this conversation was headed. It reminded me a little too much of Breanna’s confrontation several days ago.

“There is much to say, but I will start with this. The will is no longer at Timsh’s estate. Daud must have taken it.”

“We don’t need the will. I’ll soon have access to the entire Imperial Treasury.”

“It won’t be that simple. Remember your will become a ten year old girl. No one would trust you to use the treasury for an unknown cause, even if that little girl is the Empress. We needed that will, Delilah.”

“Trust in me, Brunhilde. That is all I ask. Becoming the Empress is of the utmost importance. Everything else will come together after that.”

“I have trusted you for a very long time. We all have. That is why we follow you. You’ve represented hope to us, but I am beginning to have my doubts. Destroying the life of a girl is a heinous act, but I understood its necessity after the Empress’s death. But now Daud is headed this way, and he may very well destroy everything that you believe you’re so close to attaining.”

“He won’t make it past the traps and hounds in time to stop me.”

“That may be, but what of our sisters? He will certainly appear before you manage to make the summons. Daud is not a good man. Try as he may to redeem himself, the years of bloodshed have not left him. He only managed to knock out the sisters you sent to Dunwall because he had the element of surprise. Even then, he was not kind of it. Sybil was given a terrible injury in her arm just so he could try and glean some information out of her. Our sisters have taken her to a doctor, but I fear she might not be able to use that arm properly again. Knowing that, what would happen here if several of our sisters were to attack him at once? He’d have no choice but to fight back. There would certainly be casualties.”

“As long as he is among them.”

She looked at me more sternly than she ever had before. “These are your sisters, the ones you’ve sworn to protect, we’re talking about. Don’t take their lives so lightly. Such an attitude is precisely why Melina is--”

“What? What happened to Melina?”

“I’m sorry. She was captured by the palace guards and taken to Coldridge for questioning. A few hours later, there were rumors of a heretical incident, in which everyone in the interrogation room was killed. Melina was surely among them. I’m so sorry.”

“Foolish, foolish child!” I hissed. So that was it. One of my sisters had failed me yet again. Corvo Attano would walk freely out of Dunwall Tower when the time came, and it would be me who was left to clean up the mess she had made.

“She did all she could, but it was bound to be an impossible task from the beginning. You should have known better.”

“Don’t chastise me, Brunhilde. Now, if she was taken to Coldridge, is it possible that Daud could have spoken with her?”

“No. The incident apparently occurred before his intrusion. He managed to get in by kidnapping the Overseer sent to the prison and taking his uniform, in fact. Or at least, that’s what Breanna gathered to have happened.”

“She’s still alive?” I growled. “After her heartless betrayal, those fools let her live.”

“Listen, I don’t know the details of what happened between you two on the day of her disappearance, but I find it difficult to imagine that she would ever turn traitor on us. You may be the head of our coven, but she certainly was the heart. In some ways, she was almost our second leader.”

“A second in command does not betray their leader. She is nothing more than a shriveling worm, and I rue ever having met her!”

“Surely, you don’t mean that, Delilah. We have all seen how much you watched her when she was around. It looks to me as if you’ve been hurt, but that is no excuse for acting the way you are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The only thing that matters to me right now is becoming the Empress, as is my right and duty.”

Brunhilde did not respond immediately. Indeed, I wondered if she would say anything at all. At last, she spoke. “I don’t doubt that your gift to the world was to help shape it for the better, but it did not necessarily need to be covered with thorns.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think, deep down, you know.”

“You’re acting awfully strange, Brunhilde.”

“I suppose I am. These are hard times, and the pivotal moment is at hand.”

“See? It’s statements like that which are precisely what I’m talking about. Breanna began saying odd things as well, just before she stabbed me in the back.” My tone of voice had become cool, dark, and venomous. Breanna might have wickedly appeared to my via a projection, but there was no doubt in my mind that Brunhilde had not mastered the same magics. “You aren’t planning to turn coat on me, just as she was, are you?”

She took a deep and heavy breath, then proceeded to look me squarely in the eye. She had dark, glimmering eyes. It was like looking into the depths of the blackness between the stars.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I will _never_ betray the Brigmore Witches. I will not permit everything to fall apart now.”

The hairs on the back of my neck died down from their beastly aggression. “Good,” I said quietly, distinctly. “Now go. Make preparations for Daud’s arrival, so that he does not reach me.”

“As you wish, Lady Delilah.”

She turned and headed toward the entrance of the room with purposeful strides. Halfway there, she turned around and spoke to me.

“One last thing, Delilah. We were all victims. None of us believed that we could do anything to change the cruel injustices this world has handed us before you came along and proved otherwise. Only a truly exceptional person would be able to do that. Smart, ambitious, and above all, brave. You have given us both power and the courage to use it. For that we can only thank you. Goodbye, Delilah.”

With that, she left the studio, red jacket blazing like a flame of warmth and guidance before its glow was extinguished behind the shadows of the hallway beneath.

Once she had gone, it seemed almost too quiet. I was left alone with myself, and it made me afraid that I was about to burst out crying again.

The ritual. That was the answer. That was the answer to everything.

Though some of the paints had yet to dry, I gingerly removed my masterwork from its easel and made for the entrance to my garden in the Void.


	23. Chapter 23

Wind rushed through the open gateway into the Void. I entered, simply stepping into my painting as easily as I would have projected myself through it. As I did so, I thought on how so little was truly impossible for me now. Breanna may have doubted me, but she was wrong. All I had to do was complete my ritual. It seemed only right, as I should have been in Emily’s place all along, but a sudden, cruel twist of fate had seen fit to give the throne over to someone more more blessed with a silver spoon in her mouth, than poor, little Delilah Copperspoon. But I would never forget that slight of fate.

Time slid to a crawl and then stopped completely as I took my place there in the gateway between Brigmore Manor and my inevitable future. There, in the gateway, the dark-eyed Outsider appeared before me. I had taken the powers he had given me and done with them what none other had dared to do, and my awaiting ritual would only serve to prove that.

As if reading my thoughts, the Outsider spoke. “You’ve always been a bright one, Delilah. They ways in which you’ve worked the magic I’ve given you have surprised even me. I see all paths, all possible futures, and I await eagerly to see which one your story will take. Once, shortly after I gave you my Mark, I saw several futures in which Daud was about to plunge his sword through the Empress’s chest. Only, you appeared and slit his throat. That would have been a lovely ending to your story, and Daud’s as well, yet it isn’t the future you chose. The Empress’s body has long gone cold, and yet your story continues. Her murderer not only still lives, but is making his way here at this very moment.”

Something, dark, creeping, and unknown presented itself in his words. Usually, his monologues flowed over me like water. Empty as the open sea. This time, though, that strange unearthly sensation subtly clawed at me, prickling just under my skin. It was like when Breanna had turned on me, or when I found my mother collapsed on the stairs, or that time so many years ago when the Emperor had looked at me and said... That wasn’t worth remembering. I tried to put it from my mind as the Outsider droned on.

“Daud has come to understand that the choices we make determine who we are and how our stories will play out. But do you, Delilah? You’ve been spinning the threads of your tapestry all along, and now you are running out of weft, as your Brunhilde would say. How will you finish this all off, I wonder? Through all your ambition and scheming, you’ve twisted quite the web for yourself out of the threads. Only a little time remains until all this is over. I trust you won’t disappoint.”

At that, he vanished into the recess of the Void. The winds that sucked at me on their way through the portal whipped themselves up again as time continued to press ever onward. They beckoned me forward, into the waiting hole where the primal mists of chaos churned on and on. The place where everything was possible awaited me. Failure was not an option. Not in those swirling mists of the magical Void.

I shuddered once, but only once, and stepped forward into the threads of my fate. I knew I would return as Empress, or not at all. My mind did not want to picture the second possibility, so I buried it deep and spoke no more of it.

***

I felt as if I could stay here forever, in this blissful ritual garden floating endlessly in the Void.

What a strange thought. Where did it come from? The throne awaited me, as did the world.

Bending over the altar, I read the ritual notes over again so that I was certain I had memorized them. The words touched my heart and spoke to me in silent whispers of unfulfilled promises. When that was done, I left the paper to rest on the altar, and strode over to my beautiful painting. Though the paints still hadn’t quite dried from my final painting session earlier that day, it would have to do. Daud was on his way, and Corvo too, in all likelihood. I would not give either of them the pleasure of being present by the time they arrived. I picked up the palette, and set my fresh pigments to Emily’s portrait. So it began.

“Emily Kaldwin. Daughter of Jessamine Kaldwin. Heir to the Empire of the Isles. I call out to you from the Void. I call you with ochre from Morley. Carmine beetle shells. Serkonan Lazurite. Viridian bile. The tones of your flesh I tempered with Pandyssian chalk.”

With each description, I laid out a small drop of paint onto the appropriate place on the canvas. These pigments of mine would guide my projection to darling Emily. Half the connection was made.

“The same loom that spun the fabric of your dresses made this canvas. I made my brushes from the hairs of your own scalp.”

And that was little Emily’s portion of the connection. I felt her thoughts and emotions begin to meld with mine, as if I were projecting into her. This time, though, I felt a shudder of fear that was certainly not my own. It seemed Emily could sense the connection as well. She tried to suppress it as she sat in the pub, across from her wiry caretaker.

“Is everything alright, Emily?” Callista asked. I could almost physically hear her through the connection I had just made.

“It’s fine,” Emily attempted to reassure her. “When is Corvo coming back?”

“Soon, I’m sure. He has much to do.”

“Oh,” she said, and returned to her drawing as if nothing was amiss, but I knew inside she was a mess of hopes and desires. She could hardly wait to become Empress. To prove herself to the world and right all the wrongs that had been inflicted on her since Jessamine’s death. It wasn’t a far cry from my own ambitions. Only, the difference was, I was about to take what was rightfully mine through my own merit, and she would always be the spoiled brat who had a silver spoon shoved deep into her ungrateful little mouth.

“Emily. You can not ignore me. My power is too deep. My reach, too long.”

I hated her. I hated Corvo Attano and that stupid grin he had on his face when playing hide and seek with his daughter. I might even hate Jessamine as well, I realized, though I’d been spending the longest time trying not to.

My ritual would fix all that. I set the palette aside. It had been such a long road. Now there was only one final step. This tragedy would all be over soon. I turned around to face my altar.

Daud was standing there.

It took a moment to register, but sure enough, there he was. My mind whirled. How had he gotten through all of Brigmore Manor’s defenses? No, I couldn’t let this rabid wolf see any weakness in me. It would invite him to strike. Instead I composed myself and presented to him an unpierceable exterior as I spoke calmly.

“Daud. Have you slain all my sisters? Well, it doesn't matter. I can carry on alone at this point,” I said to him as nonchalantly as possible. “I must say, I’m surprised you came this far. You’re the one who gave me this chance in the first place. I thought I might see the Lord Protector pop up at the last minute, but never you.”

He merely shrugged a massive shoulder and brusquely replied, “I suspect Corvo’s busy.”

“Are you doing this for Emily? Don’t bother. You killed her mother in front of her and sold her to a gang of murderous crooks! You think she’s fit for the throne? No, the girl Emily Kaldwin will have the mind of Delilah the First, who did not inherit everything she got, but came to power through the force of her own genius!”

“Your genius couldn’t keep me from reaching you. It won’t save you now,” growled the wolf.

“Oh? Who have your victims been, Daud? Civil servants? The housekeeping staff? Drunken boys of watch duty and frail old aristocrats? None like me. Your mother should have told you not to anger a witch.”

It wasn’t a hollow statement. I reached out to the statues scattered about my island in the Void and filled all four of them just as I would project into one of my statues back in the waking world. Here in the infinite Void, however, I could do much more than just see through their eyes. Each individual one brightened and shed off the stoney exterior to produce a clone perfectly matched to the tones of my skin and clothing. Five equally deadly versions of myself descended upon the hapless intruder.

He lunged straight at me as soon as he realized the situation. I had expected him to try that and swiftly blinked out of the way. One of my projections approached from his right and lunged with her sword. Daud deflected it effortlessly and slashed her throat open a second later. I was met with the searing pain across my own throat as he did so. I knew that there was no injury there, but I had to fight myself to keep from clenching a hand to my throat as I watched the projection crumple away into dust. I wouldn’t let the wolf see that I could feel any pain he inflicted on one of my projections.

Or let that animal anywhere near me if he had reflexes like that.

With a burst of willpower, I summoned up one of my writhing Blood Briars a half a dozen paces away from him. It wriggled forth from the simulated grass beneath it and exerted its dark, pulling force on Daud. If I could just immobilize him for long enough to allow my remaining projections to strike at once, this menace would be easily dispatched, and I could continue with my ritual.

I saw him dig the heels of his boots into the Void-earth, but it only served to tear up portions of the grass under his feet. As physically strong as this man might be, my magic was still stronger.

Seeing the opportunity, two of the projections rushed at him from opposite sides. He couldn’t possibly block both of them. Even less so when a third force was constantly drawing him in its direction.

Then, just as he looked done for, the beast simply leaped from where he stood, allowing the Blood Briar to bring him in. He landed heavily, but gracefully, having used the momentum to slice the thorny tendril cleanly in half.

He began to turn dangerously toward me, but was stopped by the sight of one of the projections blinking in a few meters away from him, between were the assassin stood and the edge where island abruptly gave way to Void. She shot a series of darts directly at him, but he blinked to the side before the destructive briars could reach him.

Just like that, he rushed up to the projection and slammed a harsh blow into her stomach -- and to mine as well. It forceful enough to knock her off balance, sending her tumbled into the endless abyss of the Void. I was overcome by the strangest sort of vertigo from contradictory sensations of falling and being firmly planted on solid ground. It only ceased when I retracted my projection from that particular statue.

My disorientation cleared to reveal Daud was headed straight for me with well-paced blinks. I quickly searched for a place to blink to, though given his speed, there was little time for that. The hollow underneath the mighty tree that housed my painting was the first spot to catch my eye. I focused on it, and quickly. In a quick motion, I held my blade aloft between me and the incoming Daud, prepared to parry his strike and blink away as he come at me.

He saw the movement, and adjusted his own blade accordingly. Again, he moved too quickly, slashing a deep, painful wound into my thigh.

Perhaps I had underestimated him. Just because he never achieved any of the exotic things I had, didn’t mean he was less magically gifted. Only with him, it showed itself in subtle ways. No one should have been able to move quite that fast on their own. It would only make sense that an assassin would put his witchcraft to that sort of use.

My heart pounded. This wasn’t anything like I’d thought it would be

Quickly before I could stumble and leave myself vulnerable to a second attack I blinked to safety. Immediately, I collapsed to the side, landing against the very painting of that fortunate girl that I was so very close to becoming. I winced quietly at the pain. I wouldn’t be able to stand for very long with an injury like this. It was up to the two remaining projections now.

Using the easel as support I turned around to see how Daud was handling them. I realized I had dropped my sword in shock just before I’d blinked away. I had turned just in time to see Daud decisively kick the blade off the edge of the island, so that it was lost to the Void forever.

I had to rely on my projections now more than ever. One was positioned in front of him, the other behind. The man simply raised his Marked hand at the one he could see, and a burst of greenish light enveloped her. She was lifted from the ground and pulled through the air straight towards his waiting blade. I realized that this must have been the same power that Daud’s man had used to incapacitate Corvo on that pivotal day. The greatest swordsman in the Empire, rendered useless as a rag doll under the influence of witchcraft. That meant that another one of my staues was doomed, and there was nothing I could to do stop the shooting pain of Daud’s sword as it passed clean through the third projection with discomforting ease.

What was this man? Certainly not the mindless, vulgar beast I had taken him as. Could this really end in the disaster it was heading towards?

A single projection remained, approached him from behind. I gritted my teeth, willing all the luck I could muster that he wouldn’t turn around. He didn’t. What he did was much stranger.

It wasn’t a blink. I saw no signs of his dissolving, and whatever he did in that time was quite impossible. One second, there was a man with his back turned to me, and death approaching at the hands of my final projection. The next, it had crumbled away into dust, like all its predecessors and the unearthly assassin himself was standing not where he had been, but right in front of me in all his surging regret, and all his newfound power.

_Beware the man in red._

I saw now what the Outsider meant. I was a fool to ignore it.

He took one step toward me, then another, moving like a fiery shadow of something I had long forgotten, but feared very deeply.

“No! You can’t do this!” I cried, back to my portrait. My masterful portrait that was calling for me to turn around and look it in the eye. I couldn’t turn. Not now. I would die for this portrait and everything it represented. I knew. It was all I had.

Yet Daud stepped ever closer. Hard, cold eyes. Unwavering gaze. A horrid fate closing in upon me. Everything I’d suffered so long for was all falling apart at the seams. And ever more, the painting that I had been forced back against was calling my name, insisting that I turn to face what I had made for myself.

There was nothing to do, but to give in, as the world came crashing down around me, the threads sealing my fate pulled tight.

“She took…” I began to admit, in trembling words.

The call of my master work brought me into its fold. I looked up into the face of my niece dressed in her fair, white garments. Sweet, innocent, pure of heart, and beloved. She stood for everything I ever wanted, but decided not to be.

“...my life.” I ended, realizing just what those words meant.

A screaming weight fell upon me, one that I had never before wished to admit was there. It forced me down, looking into the depths of the Void within me. That hole in my heart was still there, wide and open, pooling with pricks of blood. I saw now that it would never be filled. Even if I were Empress, that would not have saved me from its bleeding desolation, where I only allowed thorns to grow instead of flowers.

My horror was cut short by the sound of Daud’s wristbow firing, and I fell into darkness.

***

Corvo Attano strode into the room bearing a piece of paper in one hand. “Sokolov, what is this letter? I found placed on a shrine to the Outsider. It’s in your handwriting. Who is this ‘D’ and why did you leave a letter for them in such an… unusual location?”

Sokolov turned slowly from the painting that he was in the midst of examining with a troubled brow. His age was showing on his wrinkled face, emphasizing an exhaustion that was only now appearing.

“Her name was Delilah Copperspoon. She was once a student of mine, quite a few years ago. I do believe you two met at her gallery opening, if only briefly.”

“I believe I recall that,” Corvo said. “She was the tall, pale one with the short hair and the atrocious paintings, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, that’s her. I do miss her terribly. She was among my brightest pupils, and do not say that lightly, teaching at the Academy of Natural Philosophy as I do. Certainly, she was the most ambitiously creative individual I have ever encountered. But she was sensitive. Vulnerable.”

“That gallery opening wasn’t the first time I met her. She showed up at the Tower one day without an invitation. I’m still not sure how she managed to get in without me knowing about it.”

“Delilah had her ways. She worked in the Tower as a baker’s apprentice and serving girl from a young age. It’s possible she knew ways in and out that even you aren’t aware of.”

“I thought children other than those of the Imperial Family were customarily not permitted to live in the Tower.”

“She was an exception. That’s how she became my apprentice, in fact. The late Emperor sent me a letter requesting that I find her and train her to become a proficient painter. It was to be the last favor for an old friend. At first, I thought she would be nothing more than a bother, but I sought her out anyway, for his sake. I’m quite glad I did. I never would have met such a brilliantly talented woman otherwise.”

“Why would he do that for her?”

“Presumably because she was his bastard daughter.”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s happened before. You should know that as well as anyone, Corvo.”

“Jessamine had a sister this whole time, and she never once mentioned it.”

“From what Delilah told me, the Emperor was never very kind to her. After Jessamine’s birth, she was nothing more than a political inconvenience to him. It hurt the poor girl greatly to be treated that way. I suspect Jessamine never spoke of it because it wasn’t her secret to tell. Being in her position meant that there were many things she had to keep hidden. Even to those close to her.”

Sokolov looked down in hard thought for a brief moment, as if considering whether or not to reveal one such secret to the Lord Protector. Finally, he looked back up to speak again, saying only, “How is young Lady Emily doing? Does she suffer from nightmares at all after what she’s been through?”

“Sometimes,” Corvo replied. It was an unexpectedly heavy question. Sometimes he sat by her bed at night and watched her helplessly as she tossed and turned, muttering strange things and sometimes calling out his name. It reminded him all too much of what Jessamine had gone through on a nightly basis. Though his presence had done much to ease her burden, he knew that he could never cure her of them, as much as he would have wished otherwise.

It was only after he had been branded with the Outsider’s Mark that he began to know what some of these dreams felt like himself. Now, it seemed Emily was doomed to follow in his and Jessamine’s footsteps. What was he to make of the vivid, recurring nightmare, in which she said she saw the face of someone she had felt she once knew screaming out at her from the recesses of the endless Void? The world was full of strange, dark things.

He clenched the paper in his hand. “Sokolov, you still haven’t told me why you left this letter where you did.”

“Shortly after the gallery showing, Delilah suddenly disappeared,” he began again, slowly, painfully. “I never heard from her again. There were hints, however.”

“Hints?”

“It started a few years ago with rumors that Barrister Timsh was having an affair with a painter by her name. Even though I inquired to the Barrister about it, he consistently told me to mind my own business and that he didn’t want to discuss the matter. Those rumors began to fade after a time, so I began to hope that it was mere slander. But… after his estate was seized, I was permitted to see the confiscated paintings. They were hers.”

“Is the one behind you hers as well?”

“Yes, I could recognize her brushstrokes anywhere. Only, this one wasn’t found in Timsh’s estate. That’s what worries me. Do you recall the Abbey’s raid on Brigmore Manor last year?”

“They didn’t find anyone there, but condemned the building due to structural instability.”

“Not quite. I got a fuller story from one of the Overseers’ sisters. They didn’t find any people, but there was more than enough evidence to declare that witchcraft had been recently practiced on the premises. And several paintings and sculptures were there. All by her hand.”

Corvo gazed at the bizarre painting once again. It wasn’t rendered in nearly so atrocious colors like her other unnerving work, but there was something off about it all the same. It reminded him of the Void.

He shook his head. It was merely a painting. Besides, even if it were tinged with witchcraft, what threat could it possibly present to a Marked man? After all, he had defeated Daud in fair combat, or at least as close to fair combat as two magic users could manage. That act he had followed up by putting the dangerously insane Granny Rags to rest, so that she might never again prey on another. Even supernatural threats were not beyond him now.

“That isn’t even the strangest part of it. There was another painting found at the manor. A portrait. It depicted Emily.”

“What?”

“I can’t say why she made it, but it seems clear that her experiences at Dunwall Tower stuck with her. Perhaps she was fond of Emily, and desired to be her. After all, the girl had many of the opportunities that she never had.”

“Where is the portrait now?”

“The Oracular Order insisted that it be destroyed, despite my protests. None of the sisters would tell me why. This is quickly becoming an insulting trend. I am the Royal Physician, and yet no one will give me answers about my very own apprentice!”

“Do you think it’s possible that she really was a witch?” Corvo asked darkly.

“Of course not! That sweet, gentle child taking up with a coven? I refuse to believe it!”

And yet, he had left a note for her on a shrine to the Outsider. Tactfully avoiding a comment on it, Corvo merely replied, “These are strange times.”

“That they are. Piero and I just barely finish curing the plague, and suddenly a group of women calling themselves the Sisterhood of Roses take the the streets calling for a ban on the harvesting of whale oil from living whales.”

“Speaking of strange times, Rothwild is going to have a lot to say about that when he returns to Dunwall.”

“That Thatcher woman is going to have even more to say, I’m sure.”

“I know. She sent me a list of eighty-six grievances.”

“Sounds like you have your work cut out for you, eh Lord Regent?”

“I’ve told you. Emily is the Empress.”

“I can see why you dislike the term, but she’s just a child. Someone needs to make the decisions for her. Whether you were voted in by Parliament or not is of no consequence to me.”

Corvo sighed. “I have a long road ahead of me before peace is finally reached. I trust I can rely on you to assist me?”

“No, Corvo. I wish to retire. I have done enough here already.”

“We need you here. You’re the Royal Physician.”

“You have Piero.”

“Piero is…”

“As fine a natural philosopher as you will ever meet and a perfectly suitable candidate. Quite stubborn and entirely ignorant of some of the finer points of human decency,” he said as Corvo gave his shabby clothes and unkempt hair a raised eyebrow, “but an excellent choice nonetheless.”

“Callista will hate that.”

“You two are starting to sound like a married couple,” he chuckled.

“Jessamine was--” Corvo abruptly stammered.

“I know. We all mourn her. If there was ever a student of mine that I felt as close to as Delilah, it was her. That’s why I can’t stay.”

“Where will you go?”

“Around the Isles, perhaps. Delilah once told me that she wanted to travel around the Empire and paint on each of the Isles. I don’t know if she ever had the opportunity, but it seems that I might as well take the initiative for myself.”

"What about the painting? Will you take it with you?"

He took one long, last look at his student’s masterwork, then turned away.

“You should keep it. Hang it in Dunwall Tower. I believe that’s what she would have wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Dishonored is a game with a lot of little mysteries, especially about Delilah, about whom the game really doesn't tell us much. Apparently I'm like Daud and I can't abide a mystery because I felt like I wanted to know more about her, so I made it up. Most of all it was the theory that Delilah could have been the bastard daughter of the Emperor, or some previous Imperial house that inspired me to start writing it.
> 
> I tried to connect together all the little details that I could while constructing it, but I took a few of my own minor liberties in places. About half of the names of the witches are mentioned in game, and the other half I made up. The whale's mouth anatomy is a lot less weird in the actual game, for one thing. I also mildly edited a couple of the in-game lines to suit the needs of the story better. Delilah saying "I'll kill you!" before fighting kind of works in the game because of the voice actress's delivery but sounds so, so lame in writing.
> 
> It's been long enough in the making that I've learned a couple of things since writing it. There are two large mistakes that sit ill with me, both related to Victorian etiquette. The first is smiling. Delilah does this at several points in the story, such as at the gallery opening. That would have been very strange and off-putting in Victorian society. Look at any old photo or portrait. Smiling in public was just something you didn't do, and it's use as a public gesture is very modern. The other is corsets. Having tried one on recently, I can tell you that it doesn't seem likely that Delilah is actually wearing a corset after all. The other witches clearly aren't, as you can see bare skin through the tatters of their clothes, but with the ways she bends her torso would be impossible in a laced-up corset. Specifically, look at the way she sits up when Daud reads out the ritual notes in one of the non-lethal endings. The women in this world do seem to be intended to wear them, however, seeing as how Callista wears one while she bathing. (Why the hell are you bathing in a corset?) Granted, the world of Dishonored is not like the real world, so that means some creative licence for me, but it goes to show just what you can take for granted.
> 
> Edit: Squee! It looks as if Delilah's going to be in Dishonored 2! I thinks she's a very interesting character, but I would have liked to know more about her, hence this fanfic. I liked to imagine that she would somehow live on in the Void as something like a second outsider, and now it looks like the game developers had a similar idea. I can't wait to play it! Arkane, you guys are awesome and I adore the world you've created.


End file.
